A Cold Reunion
by Overseerneversleeps
Summary: When environmental scientists start being murdered by a mysterious assailant in modern day London, the Twelfth Doctor investigates the crimes. While doing so, he enlists the help of his old friend, a certain human named Sarah Jane. Sequel to "From Afar", though that doesn't need to be read to understand this.
1. Chapter 1: It Always Starts With Coffee

_(Author's note: Welcome to A Cold Reunion, my next Doctor Who fic. Due to the popularity of my previous fic "From Afar", I have decided to write a sequel, including one of the most beloved companions, Sarah Jane. As a huge fan of Sarah Jane and the late Elizabeth Sladen, I would have loved to see her interact with the 12th Doctor. This is my imagning of that. As for cannon, this takes place after Clara leaves at the end of Death in Heaven. This contain spoilers from that episode. This is also related to my previous fic, "From Afar", however you do not have to read it to understand this one. It would undoubtedly be helpful though. I would like to thank my friend Poes Daughter for all of her help and encouragement with this fic, as well as Feline38 for her help brainstorming. Last but not least, read and review. Reviews are food! Feed me, feed me now! Enjoy)_

Mathematic scribbles filled George Paxton's chalkboard. To the uneducated eye, they looked like a confusing, nonsensical, collage of nothing in particular. The ramblings of a mad man perhaps.

Said uneducated eye would be very wrong. George Paxton was not mad. He was a revolutionary. A maverick of his field. He finished scribbling another notation near the the bottem of the crammed board. He back stepped and meticulously looked over his work with steely eyes, then returned, smudged out a mistake with his thumb, and rewrote. This had to be perfect. There was no room for error.

George was a portly sort of man. Older, and with a round face, his greying hair seemed to fit him well. It made him look scholarly, fitting for his occupation. Many of his friends likened him to Winston Churchill, by both looks and attitude. He never minded 'Church' being his nickname. If he had his way, he would be just as famous as his namesake very soon.

His London studio apartment reflected this ambition. Some may call him eccentric, but he preferred driven. Against one wall was a small, twin bed. Spread out on top of it were a multitude of books. Some were dedicated to Physics, others Environmental Science, some even Experimental Theorys from various fields of study. Across the room was a kitchen with moderate counter space, this too cluttered. Tools and other implements lay tossed about; from hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers, drills and rivet guns to saws, a wielding torch, a nail gun, and a soldering iron, he had it all. In amongst all of this were seemingly useless items. Random copper wires were mixed with long pieces of pipe, next to piles of nails and screws. A dismantled toaster sat next to a sawed up fire extinguisher, piled on top of two car batteries. The only working appliance was the coffee maker, which was surrounded by empty cups and crushed cans of energy drinks.

There was a couch next to a coffee table. This area was also cluttered beyond belief. Piles of note books and crumpled rolls of paper lay across the cushions, and the table was coated in blueprints like a second skin.

There was a dining table in between the living space and the kitchen. On this was a large cylindrical object. It was built out of metal piping and ended in funnels on both ends. These were attached to hoses, which were intertwined around the main piping. Both were hooked to a pair of fire extinguishers, that were haphazardly wired to a primitive switchboard. Attached to the main console was a heat pump torn from a mini-fridge. Hooked via another hose was a shiny metal tank the size of a baseball. There was a blue light that flickered on it, and blinked in regular intervals. This looked rather out of place with the rest of the objects this contraption was built out of, comparatively high-tech ofof the rest mundane household materials.

George Paxton's masterpiece was almost complete. All he would need to do was test fire it. He had absolute faith it would work. All the math was right, even if the science was experimental. If there was ever a person that could make this breakthrough, it was him.

His thoughts of grandeur were abruptly interrupted by a loud pounding on his front door. He looked at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning. Who would come to his door at this hour? There was never anyone else in the building awake at this hour, and if they were they were up to no good, usually drug users or worse. After three knocks it stopped.

He stared at his door for a few moments. There had been a rash of burglaries just a few blocks away. The scientist was not going to let just anyone come waltzing in, not with his creation just sitting on the table. He may have been a bit strange, but he was not stupid. He waited, looking down at the door crack. Even though there was no more knocking, he could see the dark shadows of feet beyond the door. He could hear an odd ticking sound, like some one tapping two marbles together. It was strange to him, because it sounded almost... reptilian. He had worked in a laboratory many years ago, around Iguanas, Monitor Lizards, and Geckos. It was quite common to hear that same high pitched clicking when they were agitated.

The pounding started again, this time faster and heavier, shaking the whole door.

"Who is it? What do you want?" he shouted, fear creeping into his voice. He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, and crept toward the door. Quickly, he dialed the local police station, and got ready to press send. If whomever this was tried anything funny, he'd have the cops here in a second.

He reached the door, and listened. In addition to that strange ticking, he could hear labored, raspy breathing. Perhaps the man on the other side was hurt or sick, and needed help.

"Or he's here to rob you George," he thought to himself. If he was hurt he would have called out for help, not just stood there. Maybe it was a friend of his here to pull a prank. If he was, George didn't appreciate it. Still, there was only one way to find out who this was. Mustering up his courage, he unlocked the door, and turned the handle.

The door creaked open, revealing a very tall man. He was in fact, almost a half a foot taller then George. He was dressed in robes similar to a monk, with a hood up over his face, completely obscuring what he looked like. His barrel chest moved up and down with his rasping breath, and the hood silently looked down at George.

"Ca-can I help you?" George asked. He knew he sounded terrified, but he couldn't help it. This man was very intimidating. He looked like he could crack his head open just by flexing his bicep. He said nothing, instead pushed George out of the way, walking right into his apartment.

"Hey! I didn't say you could come in!" he shouted. The big man's head swivelled, like he was looking for something.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" he grabbed at the mans back.

Suddenly, the robed man whirled around, catching his wrist in a vice grip. He cried out as pain spiked up his arm. Another gloved hand grabbed the front of his shirt, and shoved him backwards. George stumbled and fell to the ground, his phone smashing on the floor.

Silently, his assailant held out one finger, as though to tell him to stay put. The scientist was not about to argue.

Once again, the huge man stomped forward slowly looking around. He saw his head turn to the main table, and he started walking toward it. Toward George's invention. His masterpiece.

He walked up to it, and put his hands on it. He violently pulled the small, baseball sized tank off the side, and turned around.

Anger suddenly boiled in George. That was his. He had worked for over a year on his invention. Hours and hours were spent doing math and fiddling with blue prints to try and make something sensible out of practically nothing. All he had at his deposal were scrap piles of garbage and what ever he could scroung from the broken electronics people threw away. Everything except what that man just took, the only advanced peice of hardware in the whole device. What right did he have? To take apart his creation.

George balled up his fists and stood up. He ran at the robed robber, intending to beat him senseless to get back what was taken. He wasn't about to give it up without a fight.

He went to throw a punch, but the giant intercepted it with a fore arm before he even came close. Silently, his other hand shot forward, the big fist cracking into his jaw. Immediately George hit the floor, the whole room spinning around. He felt like his stomach was in his throat, and everything was foggy.

He looked up at the big man in front of him. One fist held out in front of him, he grunted and hissed audibly, the clicking sound growing louder. He pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing some sort of gun barrel attached to his wrist.

George did not even have time to scream as bright, blue light engulfed him. It would have been pretty, were it not frigid. At first the frost shot agony into his whole body, chilling him to the bone. Then he felt nothing at all, every fiber of his body going numb. His head thundered, as he fell back. His final thought was to his creation, while the big, cloaked man walked toward the door, and how he would never get the chance to complete it. Everything started to fade on the edges, and he tried to raise his arm at the theif, failing beneath the cold's oppression. Everything went black. George Paxton was no more.

* * *

><p>A strange grinding tore into the silence of an alley in the center of Londen, England. In a city so busy at mid day, none of the people in cars or walking down the streets gave it any second glance, not with the daily grind in full swing. Slowly but surely, a dark blue Police Box phased into existence, landing with a dull thud in the alley. The Tardis had arrived, and its owner stepped out the front door.<p>

One word to describe him was dapper. His black waistcoat was sleek, with a pair of matching pants and hardy, well made boots. His countenance was stern, with an age marked face, a large, hooked nose, and a stern mouth that had frowned all too often in recent days.

His bright blue eyes were piercing. Even though they belonged to an older looking man, they spoke of something ancient. They showed him for what he really was, a man who had seen a thousand years twice over, and not all of them were good. These eyes were topped with a pair of aggressive looking eye brows, that could probably intimidate almost anyone. His greying spikes of hair completed his older look, making him appear quite dignified.

The Doctor adjusted the collar of his coat, and the buttons of his white undershirt. He had landed in London, November of 2014. Two thirty in the afternoon. Perfect. Exactly what he was trying for. He locked the door to his time machine.

He walked out from the alley, and began down the street. London was always so... clogged. People hurrying every which way in cars or on foot, talking on phones and shouting for cabs. Never stopping, never sleeping, never sitting still. Then again though, human lives were short. Of course they did everything fast.

He was a man on a mission this day. A coffee mission. He needed a break from all the excitement. He had just come from a 'relaxing vacation' on Plujovex 8, a vacation that entailed hunting down a renegade cyborg that had grown a penchant for incineration. Not the thing he had in mind to relax.

So now he was here, so that perhaps he could get a cup of coffee and get out of his own head for twenty minutes. He needed that, badly. It was the silence of having no one in the Tardis with him that got to him the most. It was the quiet moments that ate him away slowly.

His mind wandered to Clara Oswald. She was probably happy right now, with her boyfriend Danny, preparing for the Holiday season. Her and PE, as he called him, were likely blissfully enjoying the coming days. He could assume Clara thought the same about him, that he was back on Gallifrey becoming a king, or whatever happy fantasy her little head could conjure about what he may or may not be doing. It was a cheery dream, and a lie she did not realize she was telling herself.

He shouldn't have lied to her. He should have told her the hard facts. Gallifrey, his home planet, was still gone, lost in some pocket universe somewhere in time and space. It was like trying to find a needle in a planet made out of haystacks. Actually, that was easier. With the needle, one knew it was actually there. With Gallifrey, for all he knew, it was destroyed, and gone forever. Maybe, The Master had lied.

He, or in this case_ she,_ had lied before. Why he chose to believe this incarnation of the maniacal Time Lord that Gallifrey had returned he did not know. Perhaps it was pure desperation, or some disturbed sense of hope. What ever it was , he was kicking himself for it now. He should have known. Yet still, when he flew to the coordinates and open the door, half of him expected to see that gargantuan red planet looking back at him. When all he saw was the empty black of space and the winking of distant stars, it had broken both of his hearts beyond all recompense.

He shook his head and continued walking. All of this pondering wasn't doing him any good. It rarely did, but that didn't stop him. He looked about a bit, finding himself in an area with mostly small shops and restaurants. There had to be a decent coffee shop around here somewhere.

Abruptly, he started rifling through his pockets. Other than a yo-yo, his sonic screwdriver, and a cigarette case full of jelly babies he only had twenty Kru-naries, currency only usable about five thousand years from now. He needed some money first.

After another few minutes of walking, he came across an ATM machine outside of a convenience store. He looked both ways, to be sure no one was paying attention. People rarely seem to on Earth, or any other planet with large citys. So engrossed in their own lives, noticing the subtle was not the population at large's strong point.

He dug around in his pockets, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. A long, metal, wand like tool with a bright green light on the end, it was the most useful item in the Doctor's possession. He pressed the small button on top, and the tool warbled loudly. The tip flashed a few times, and the screen of the ATM winked and pixilated. It beeped, and bills of cash flooded out of the opening.

The Doctor scooped it up, and quickly counted it. Two thousand dollars. That should be enough for some coffee. Actually, it looked like more than enough. He hoped. He could never really tell...

He walked down the street farther, finding a small little coffee shop on the corner. It looked... cozy. Like the sort of place one would sit down and read a book or relax after a long day of work. Perfect for his current situation.

He walked in, a small bell ringing upon his arrival, and the pleasant smell of freshly ground coffee beans wafted his way. This place was tiny by many standards near by shops. There were around six small tables, each with a pair of chairs by them. At the far end was a counter where baristas made a variety of drinks. A single T.V hung from the ceiling near the counter, blaring the local news channel. It was empty save for a single other patron ticking away on a laptop near the counter. This was good. Perfect actually. No one to have any awkward conversations with.

As he walked up, a young man at the counter shouted to him.

"Hey mate, what can I get ya?" he asked. The Docter gave him an exasperated look.

"Coffee!" he replied, his thick Scottish brogue leaking into his speech. Wasn't it obvious what he came in here for? It wasn't like he was going to order a car at a coffie shop.

"What kind? We're having a special on a double triple shot, iced, extra creamy, quadruple whipped, mocha latte," The Doctor shook his head. He had forgotten how ridiculous coffee orders were in this time period. Thank God people would be going back to basics by 2098.

"The hot kind. Preferably black," he said dryly.

"You got it. Have a seat, we'll get it to you in a minute."

The Doctor nodded, and walked over to the table in the corner, near the front window. He sat down, and waited. It didn't take long for his cup to arrive. He almost instantly took a swig from it. Nice and bitter, just how he liked it.

His sharp eyes stared down into the dark liquid, and his intense brows furrowed. He had to have missed something. In order for The Master, or _Mistress_ now because he had regenerated into a woman this go around, to come back, Gallifrey had to be intact. But, how was he able to hop through the pocket universe into this one? It took an incredible amount of energy. Literal energy. A pocket universe could drain a Tardis in mere seconds. According to the Time Lords, when he was moving Gallifrey he was trapping it in a single moment in time. It would be in stasis, basically a localized Time Loop of the same millisecond repeating itself over and over forever. Or at least until some outside force stopped it. The Mistress would have had to escape _that_, a practical impossibility.

Unless Gallifrey had fallen out of the pocket universe. It was possible, but that meant it could end up anywhere out there. Any galaxy, any solar system, or none at all. It could have hurtled into a sun, or a black hole, or popped into the middle of an asteroid belt and been pummeled into oblivion.

It couldn't have been destroyed, The Mistress escaped. He took another swill of the coffee and slammed his cup down in frustration. He was going in circles. For someone who was trying not to think, he was failing at it miserably.

"Well now, since when does Mr. John Smith drink his coffee black?" said a familiar female voice behind him. He would recognize it any where.

He slowly turned around in his chair, and saw just who he was expecting, and a wide smile spread to his face.

She was a middle aged women with sholder length, brown hair that had only just begun to go grey on the edges. Her heart shaped face was some what marred by lines of age, though she had aged well from they young girl he had traveled with so many years ago. Her eyes still held that pure, soulful look to them, a kindness that most people seemed to lose some where along the way. She wore a very subtle outfit; a brown patterned sweater and blue jeans. It didn't matter what she looked like or what she wore, she was his oldest and most trusted friend in all of time and space.

"Sarah Jane", and for the first time in months, The Doctor beamed.


	2. Chapter 2: Catching Up

_(Author's Note: This chapter has a lot of information in it from past episodes, mainly Day of the Doctor, but also Time of the Doctor, and Death in Heaven. In the Doctor catching up with Sarah Jane, it will catch up the reader if they have not seen those episodes yet. I'm also proposing a bit of theory in regards to return of Gallifrey in what the Doctor thinks about it. It came out of a debate about whether or not the Docter destroyed Gallifrey and then saved it, or if he saved it both times. It doesn't effect cannon in any way. I just feel it suits this Doctor to consider it as the most self reflective Doctor. Anyway, I digress. Enjoy guys and gals)_

The Doctor was happily bewildered into silence. Sarah Jane Smith stood in front of him, in the flesh. Immediately he felt as though he was shot backwards to his fourth self, that adventurer with the ridiculous scarf and the robot dog. Back to when they were both younger, a time that felt like eons ago.

"Please! Sit!" he shouted, pulling out a chair for her.

She smiled sweetly, almost as though her memories of _him_ were flooding back to her. The Doctor couldn't see how they wouldn't. He considered Sarah Jane his best friend. She had met him when he was only on his third regeneration, when he was an older, white haird man with an impeccable sense of style. That was when they began their travels, all through the remainder of that life and much of the one after. After he had begrudgingly left her behind that one sunny day in London so long ago, and their paths had crisscrossed like roads on a map ever after. She met the two previous versions of himself that came before the first she met, and most of the ones that followed. The amount of danger they had faced throughout the years was immense, and she would always hold a very special place to him none of his other companions could ever fill. He cared for each of them greatly as well, all in there own special way, but the woman now seated in front of him perhaps the best assistant he had ever had.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No thats quite alright, I'm fine. I'm sorry to ambush you like this, but I saw you in the window and had to come in and say hello! Especially after that awkward meeting last year," she said.

She was referring to when he had met her in a cooking ware store not long ago. He had brushed past her and just let her know who he was, before making a quick escape. He now wished he had stayed.

"My God, when you said 'eye tumors' I thought it may be you, because only you would concoct something like that. Then you gave that same alias 'Jon Smith," she shook her head with a smirk, "I only wish you had stayed a bit longer..." she trailed, looking a bit sad.

"I didn't want to put you in danger," he answered. She had lived through enough at this point. There was no reason she should risk getting killed now.

"Pfft" she snorted, "trust me, with all the things that have gone on here on this planet for the last ten or fifteen years, I'm not worried about whatever danger is following you around."

"You never have been," he grinned wryly. She had always been brave to a fault, "So, what do you think? Like the new face?"

"I do!" she exclaimed, "Its very... stately. Sort of reminds me of your third variant. I liked him too. Your new accent is wonderful by the way! How long have you been Scottish?"

"Its new to this one," he replied, "I like it, I feel like I can really complain now without people thinking I'm whining." She laughed, flashing that same grin she always used to.

"I suppose thats true. If I may though... how did it happen?" she asked, becoming suddenly serious. He sighed, shaking his head.

"You're never going to believe me."

"Try me."

"Remember that silly young man who wore the stupid bow ties?" he asked her, rolling his eyes at his old selfs fashion sense. He had no clue what he was thinking. A delusion that bow ties were cool. Terrible idea.

"Of course. He was adorable," she answered.

"That was the one before this one. I spent nine hundred years on a planet called Trenzalor and I... died of old age," he shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

"Thats... not such a bad way to go. You've gone worse ways." she said frankly "What have you been up to? Who are you travelling with?"

He hesitated. It was a hard truth to speak. He was alone, plain and simple.

"Well... I'm not with anyone. My most recent assistant Clara left. I think the job... was too much for her at the end, and I can't blame her." Sarah only smiled reassuringly.

"Its not for everyone, what you do. Some people aren't built for it," The Doctor shook his head.

"She was built for the job with the me she started out with, not the one I changed into. I... don't know if it was the things we faced or if I just pushed her too hard. I had to let her go. I could see what it was doing to her. "

Guilt and self anger settled in his chest. He remembered their goodbye, when he told her he found Gallifrey. That lie was the only way she would leave with surety, if she thought he was going to stop traveling and settle back on his home planet. He didn't want her to go, but he didn't want her to stay and become some heresy of herself. So he did the wrong thing... for the right reasons. Sarah Jane nodded, frowning.

"So then... what are you doing out there, by yourself?" he could see the pity in her eyes. He hated pity. It was degrading.

Now was the part where he had to decide whether or not to tell her about Gallifrey. He hadn't told anyone yet. Except for Clara of course, because she was present for the monolithic event. Conflict swirled inside him, but it setteled quickly. Even if the knowledge put her in danger, he didn't want to lie to his oldest friend. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't care, but this was Sarah Jane. If there was one being in all of space and time who would understand everything that was happening to him, it was her.

"The Time Lords are back. Gallifrey is back. Its out there somewhere. I just have the impossible task of finding it."

She looked shocked by him just dropping that on her, but she managed to regain her composure fairly quickly. Then she smiled.

"Thats... fantastic! When we met a few years ago, you said you were the last Time Lord. What happened?"

That was the question he had been running from for more then a few of his lives, the one he didn't want to answer, not even to himself. It was his greatest sin, turned around into his greatest triumph. The only way he could consider it the latter is if he found his home, and knew for sure it was there. He didn't want to lie to Sarah. Not about this. She knew there was a Time War, it was time for him to tell her how it ended.

"During The Last Great Time War, in the final battle, the Dalek fleet assaulted Gallifrey in full, in an attempt to destroy the Time Lords once and for all. It was working too, they were winning. If the Daleks won the Time War, they would certainly annihilate all of creation until there was literally nothing left. Not even themselves. The Time Lords were not going to allow that to happen. They were convening to decide whether or not to use their considerable power to wipe the universe clean. They were going to literally erase everything and everyone, from every moment in time. Basically press the reset button so to avoid the Dalek victory. It sounded impossible at the time, but with almost every Time Lord left in existence willing to lend his mental powers to the job, they could do it. I know it doesn't sound like a group of people in the same room thinking hard could do anything but give someone a headache, but you have to remember this would be billions of the most ancient and powerful beings in the entire universe melding their minds together with the singular purpose of erasing everything."

Sarah fell back in her chair, covering her mouth with her hand in utter horror. She knew enough about the Time Lords to understand what they were capable of. The Doctor took a deep breath.

"There was a weapon created long ago by the Time Lords, called The Moment, or in layman's terms The Galaxy Eater. I think you can figure out why they called it that, your not like most of the pudding brains around here. It was an Omega class weapon, making it a cardinal sin to use it, under any circumstance. It didn't destroy things, it erased them. Whatever it was used on was gone and could never be recovered. It was like it never existed at all, and can never exist again. In the face of the universe being destroyed either way, I stole it, and..." this was the hard part for him to say. He shut his eyes.

"I used it on Gallifrey. The planet was destroyed, and the entire Dalek fleet with it. I committed double genocide against both sides... my own people and our enemiesenemies. It was Time Locked, disabling any attempt at time travel to go back and change it. No one could go back to it, not even myself."

He was quiet for a a few minutes. Sarah just stared back at him, her eyes wide and mouth open.

"Oh... my God," she muttered, "you... had to kill them all anyway... whether you wanted to or not... like you tried to avoid all that time ago."

She was talking about when the two of them had traveled together, when he had the chance to wipe out the Daleks and didn't take it, not wanting to commit genocide, even against them. Despite how sick inside it made him, he wish he had. He could have avoided more unnecessary bloodshed than there would have been on his hands. The Daleks had survived The Moment anyway, so really, it was all for nothing.

"I'm... so sorry," tears began to form in her eyes. Half of him expected her to hate him for what he had done. Half of him wanted her to. He knew Sarah Jane better than that. Or... he should have. All she did was feel for him.

"Then, just before I spent all that time on Trenzalor, somehow I was able to go back, along with another of my former selves and meet that version who fought The War. I don't know how, because it wasn't supposed to happen, not with a Time Lock. Together, with two of my selves, I managed to save Gallifrey by moving it. We found a way to use our Tardis' to move Gallifrey, literally phase it out of our universe and into another in a reality bending event once thought impossible. The Daleks killed each other in the crossfire, because they had surrounded the planet and when Gallifrey disappeared, they couldnt stop their weapons fast enough, halting them from taking the universe over. We dropped it, frozen, in a pocket universe... somewhere. Now... I've been trying to find it."

"So... you destroyed it, then saved it?" she asked him, obviously confused. He understood why, even he didn't understand it completely himself. It shouldn't have even been able to happen. It flew in the face of every law of time travel.

"Basically, yes. I don't know if I ever destroyed it in the first place, or if I had saved it the first time and the paradox of meeting my future self forced me to forget," he shook his head. It wouldn't be the first time he met his future self and ended up forgetting it. Paradoxes were weird that way. The not knowing though, was the part that haunted him the most.

Did he save it all along but just... forgot? Or did he first destroy it and then save it after? He very much wanted to believe, had to believe, that he had spared Gallifrey all along. However, he couldn't say for sure he didn't murder every last one of his own people and then changed it later. The silly raggedy man with the bow tie never thought of that, he was just happy to have his home back. The perks of regeneration; it gave one a whole new outlook, even if he didn't want it.

"Its out there, somewhere, if it hasn't some how been torn apart while waiting for me to show up," he rubbed his forehead, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Most of his cards were on the table, but he felt far from relieved. He didn't need to tell her about the return of his arch nemesis, The Master. Or, as _she_ was now called, The Mistress. That took some getting used to. He had never been female before, not until the last time they met. She had attempted to take over the Earth, and eventually the galaxy, by converting the Earth's dead into Cybermen, a race of hive-minded cyborgs. He had stopped her, but not before she told him the supposed location of his lost home. She lied of course, but it meant that at least, Gallifrey was, or still is, out there. She couldn't have showed up if it wasn't, because she was trapped there when he moved it.

He was getting a headache. Why humans seemed to feel less stressed after talking about their problems was beyond him.

"Enough about me!" The Doctor abruptly said, "What about you? What have you been up to since we last met?"

"Nothing as exciting as that, thats for sure," Sarah Jane shrugged, "actually... things have been pretty... normal. My son, Luke, is enrolled in Oxford University, top of his class. He's duel majoring in journalism and physics." The smile on her face spoke of her pride.

"Like mother, like son," The Doctor mused. Despite that she started as a mere investigative reporter, by the time she was finished traveling with him, she had a working knowledge of physics, both modern and future understandings.

"He has K9 by the way. He loved that dog so much I just couldn't make him part with it." The Doctor smiled again. K9 was a futuristic robot dog he had let Sarah Jane keep from their travels together, as a companion. Part of him missed that dog... most of him remembered how annoyingly right it was all the time about everything. He was still happy it was being taken care of.

"My daughter, Sky has been accepted to the most prestigious girls school in all of England. She spends most of her time there, except when she comes home for the holidays. My two friends, Rani and Clyde are consulting for UNIT and are... helping them save hundreds of lives. I'm so proud of all of them," through the smile, he could see the that hint of sadness in her eyes. He had seen it often, whenever he looked in the mirror. It was the ever lurking pain of loneliness.

"Its just me and Mr. Smith" she shrugged.

"You've remarried? Congratulations!" The Doctor shouted, jumping up out of his seat, drawing looks from the baristas at the counter, "I must meet him, take me to him!" He wanted to see if he was worth Sarah Jane.

She covered her eyes with her hand, her face turning red, and a chuckle escaping her.

"No. No, I meant the super computer in the attic. Remember?"

"Oh..." he replied, feeling foolish. He had forgotten about that. That was the computer's code name. Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly sure how she came to possess such a device. He should probably ask her about that some time...

He awkwardly adjusted his coat and sat back down, his outburst contained.

"I must confess, he's not always the best company," she shrugged.

They were both silent for a few moments. What was he to say to a friend he hadn't seen in far too long? There was so much, in what felt like not nearly enough time.

"This is nice," Sarah Jane started, "it's always nice to see you,"

"And you as well," he replied. He looked at her, but something distracted him. The T.V behind her head was running the daily head lines, and something on the ticker caught his eye.

"What? What is it?" Sarah asked once she noticed him staring intently over her sholder. He simply pointed one long finger at the screen, straining to it.

"Hey! You! Turn that up!" he shouted at the barista at the counter. Looking a tad insulted, he did as he was told. The male news caster's calm voice filled the café.

"...is in mourning today after the death of Environmental Researcher George Paxton. Regarded as one of the chief minds of this century, his breakthroughs in reversing the effects of global warming were regarded as some of the most important discoveries of our our time. Close friends say Dr. Paxton had become a bit of a shut in in recent months, and had reportedly been working on some sort experimental device of unknown usefulness. Police are baffeled as to Paxton's cause of death, as it appears he froze to death in his home last night. They are urging anyone with any knowledge of the strange circumstances of his death, anyone who may have wished to harm Mr. Paxton or any other information in regards to this case to come forward and aid the investigation. In other news, a herd of wild donkys..."

The Doctor looked at Sarah Jane, then back at the television, which was now showing a different story. How curious this was.

"What.. was the temperature last night?" The Doctor asked.

"Around fifty five degrees," she answered, also looking baffeled. That was no temperature to freeze to death in, especially not inside. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something but stopped.

The Doctor tried to put this out of his head. He was, after all, supposed to be here relaxing. This was his time off. Time to decompress. Not go chasing after a man, frozen to death, inside, in relative temperature, in fall.

That shouldn't happen. How does that happen? Especially on Earth, in this year? People just don't turn to popsicles over night. Not normal people, with normal happenings. That sounded like...

"Murder," Sarah Jane murmered, as though she read his thoughts, "something murdered him,"

"My thoughts exactly," The Doctor confirmed, "not that the incompetent police will figure it out. They seem to need bloody footsteps leading up to the person who committed the crime's house. He rolled his eyes.

"Then, maybe, someone should give them some help," she replied slyly.

"Maybe someone should. Perhaps two people?" he winked at her. He was enjoying seeing her again, he didn't really want her to go so soon.

"Perhaps," her grin widened. He had her, and he knew it, "who would be smart enough to do that?"

"I don't know, I think Jon and Sarah Jane Smith, may be up to the task." he said coyly. She nodded brusquely.

"One last hurrah?"

"Absolutely," he said. The Doctor pounded back the rest of his coffee, and stood up. He took his money out of his pocket, and left the entire stack on the table. It had to be enough for the coffee, and he didn't cair if they kept the change. Sarah Jane stood too, an exuberant smile on her face. They quickly left the coffee shop, ready and excited to discover what happened to the iced over George Paxton.


	3. Chapter 3: Mysterious Findings

It did not take The Doctor and Sarah Jane long to find George Paxton's apartment. Once they got in Sarah Jane's car, a blue Volkswagen Bug, all The Doctor had to do was use his sonic screwdriver to change the frequency on the radio so that it would pick up police scanners. There was a lot of chatter about the mysterious circumstances of the man's death. Evidently it was the talk to the town. He wasn't surprised. It wasn't every day that someone randomly froze to death. Especially not a world renowned scientist.

Paxton's home was in an apartment building on the corner of a quiet-seeming street. The neighborhood was crammed with police cars and the building's parking lot was a mass of uninformed officers and yellow crime scene tape. The policemen were only letting through people who could prove they lived in the building or other investigators. Sarah Jane parked the car a bit down the street, so she and The Doctor could watch for a little while.

The cops were obviously handling this seriously. Just with the amount of visibly armed officers outside, he counted twelve just in the parking lot, they weren't taking any chances. These didn't even include the pair of guards standing on either side of front door, holding assault rifles. They had a large van parked near by, with the trunk open. He could see a two computers inside, as well as a scanner, a microscope, and a attaché case full of hazmat suits. It was a heavy duty crime scene investigation van. At least they were treating this _as a crime._ That was more than he had expected. Most of the time, if someone died under seemingly unnatural circumstances, they ruled it "_accidential_" and called it a day.

"Are you ready?" he asked Sarah Jane. She nodded, and the pair exited the car. As they walked up to the apartment, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. That wallet contained one of the most important items for his infiltration of nearly any where: psychic paper.

It was a handy invention that looked like a blank piece of white paper, but it was far more. To any on looker The Doctor showed it to, it would appear to be whatever document he wanted them to perceive it as, whether that was a badge, a pass, a security card or any other thing he may need to get into some place. It was a difficult ruse for most people to see through. It either took someone with an extremely high IQ quotient, someone trained to see through it, or someone with a startlingly little amount of imagination. In most cases, it worked like a charm. He doubted this time would be any.

As the pair approached the building they were met by a decidedly round looking cop. Before he reached them, The Doctor leaned his head toward Sarah Jane.

"MI6," he muttered. She nodded.

"Sir, Madam, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, this is a crime scene," he shouted. The Doctor scowled, and held up his wallet, letting it open to reveal the psychic paper.

"Special Agent John Smith, MI6," he stated authoritatively. He made a motion looking as though he put his wallet into his back pocket, but instead he subtly handed it into his partner's hand behind his back. She in turn held it up, a wide smile on her face. Excellent, she was being good cop. He preferred bad cop.

"Special Investigator Sarah Jane Smith, MI6,"

"No relation," The Doctor added.

"MI6? Why in the blazes would MI6 be here?" he spat. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Police officers never liked it when other groups horned in on their parade, even if they couldn't figure out where their hand was right in front of their face. Stupid sense of pride he figured.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that sir. This is a matter of Royal Security, the security of our nation, our colonies, and of the Parliamentary Association for the Safety, Security, and Sanity of our great lady, The Queen" he made a salute, "God Save the Queen,"

He doubted any of that was right, but he had to admit the gape-mouthed, stupid look on the officers face was priceless. He likely should have stopped after _Royal Security_. He may have just talked himself into a hole.

" Mr. Paxton was involved in a top secret project that, should it fall into the wrong hands, could be disastrous for our nation and our allys," Sarah bluffed. The probability of her being right was high however, otherwise Paxton, a high level scientist, wouldn't be dead.

The cop in front of them gave them a side long glare.

"You two look pretty old to be be MI6," he argued.

"You look pretty unathletic to be a police man, so I guess we're even," The Doctor shot back. The man looked down at his potbelly and set his jaw.

"I think I should call this in," he replied. The Doctor scowled, his thick eyebrows looking like they could rip open a tin can.

"Alright, fine, you do that," he said venomously, "Call your supervisor, and tell them you denied two MI6 agents access to a crime scene because you're mush brained oaf, so you can get fired and be replaced by someone who's actually useful!"

The policeman visibly recoiled, stepping backwards.

"Alright! Alright! No need to shout, go right ahead in. Second floor, fourth apartment," he said, stepping aside. Apparently the threat of losing his job was enough for him to neglect his duty. The Doctor and Sarah ducked under the neon tape, and made their way to the front door.

"Let 'em through, they're MI6!" the officer shouted. The pair of guards parted, they they walked in.

They followed the trail of officers to Paxton's apartment. As they walked in they were met by a man in a black trenchcoat. He had slick backed blond hair, and dark green eyes. His big nose was straight like a bird's beak, and he had a tiny dimple in his clean shaven chin.

"Detective Tom McGrewin," he introduced in a cockney accent, his hands on his hips. He scanned the newcomers with his beady eyes, with his lips curved into the slightest of sneers, like he smelled something bad.

"Special Agent John Smith, this is my partner, Sarah Jane Smith, no relation," The Doctor said, absentmindedly walking right past him. He wasn't concerned with the incompetent investigators. His firce eyes were already scanning the disaster of a room.

"We weren't notified MI6 was getting involved. A little heads up would have been nice," he heard the detective say.

"We were diverted last moment. This crime has risen to the top of MI6's shortlist," she bluffed. The Doctor was only half paying attention.

His keen eyes picked up on everything in this room. The junk was first and foremost. Useless, almost every peice of it. Wires, pipes, broken electronics; it was like a junkyard threw up on the counter. Blue prints and books were littered in other places, worn and taped togther from years, maybe even decades of abuse. Some sort of contraption sat on the table, looking peiced together out of bits and bobs.

Obsessive was what this room said about its owner. Everything in this room was a mess except that one place; whatever that thing on the table was supposed to be. It was the only thing that mattered to him; cleanliness didn't, other people didn't, romance definitely didn't. He doubted a woman had ever stepped foot in here besides Sarah Jane right now. He looked down. Based on the dust coating the floor, and the veritable trenches in it from where Paxton walked, it appeared that he only moved from the counters, to the dining table, to the coffee table, to the chalk board covered in sophisticated mathematics, and back. There were other sets of shoe prints as well, likely the careless policemen, but one conspicuous set alarmed him. Boot prints leading from the door to the table, and back out. They looked like they could be size seventeens.

His eyes fell on Paxton's body. He had to give the man one thing, he was a dead ringer for Winston Churchill. The Doctor would know, he'd met the man multiple times. His skin was an unnatural blue pigment, and his hair was full of frost. Even though it had been warm for hours, he was still frozen. In fact, there wasn't even a puddle where he had melted at all. His face was still rapt in the horror of his impending death.

He could hear Sarah Jane still arguing with the detective over their arrival here.

"Agent Smith!" The Doctor shouted, getting her attention, "could you go investigate that... thing on the table. Try and figure out what he was making?"

"Of course, Doctor," she replied, brushing past McGrewin.

"Oh, an agent and a Doctor. Lovely," McGrewin said sarcastically, "Doctor of what exactly."

"Fermentation sciences," he replied, kneeling down at George Paxton's body. He put his pointer finger and thumb to the mans wrist, and squeezed.

"He's dead, there's no pulse," McGrewin snorted.

"I'm not looking for a pulse," he growled back. This man was getting on his nerves with his constant mouth diarrhea.

He squished his wrist a bit. The skin had a little give to it. It wasn't rock hard like he was expecting it to be. It was more like a half thawed turkey; icy and gritty but not really solid. That... was curious.

He moved up his arm and squeezed hishis shoulder. That was a little harder. He had it figured out now. He pushed his pointer finger in the center of his chest.

The skin was like concrete. That was the point of impact, of whatever he was hit with, because it was flash frozen. There was no frostbite across the rest of his body, so it killed him quickly, but it was not instantaneous.

"I don't know why the MI6 is bothering with this. It was obviously an accident from whatever garbage he was building over there," McGrewin said flippantly. That was it. The Doctor was done; his low amount of patients had run out.

"Shut up!" he shouted, his brogue making him more intimidating then he already was, "Just stop talking! I don't want to hear your insipid theories, I don't want to hear your idiotic questions, I don't even want to hear you breathe! You know what? Stop thinking! Someone as stupid as you are, thinking in the same room is distracting on so many levels I can't even begin to describe it, because I know your little mashed potato brain is over there trying to formulate small sentences about as intelligent as a child trying to jam a square peg in a round hole! Just stand there! Don't talk, don't move, don't think! Don't! Do! Anything!"

McGrewin just stood there, mouth agape, stunned into silence.

"So much better," The Doctor muttered. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his coat pocket, and pointed it at Paxton.

"What is that?" McGrewin abruptly asked, causing The Doctor to grit his teeth together.

"What did I _just _say to you!" he yelled, shaking his head. He saw Sarah Jane shoot him an unappreciative glare.

"Its a... high density camera," he lied, "every one will have them in a few years,"

He wiggled about the settings and scanned Paxton's corpse. The tool warbled and he looked at the readings.

Negative two hundred and thirty eight degrees. His brows furrowed, and his mind sped. That wasn't normal, and didn't quite make sense. He was obviously killed with some kind of cryogenic weapon, The Doctor could tell that just from the fact there was a point of impact and no frostbite. This wasn't on par with any cryo weapon he had seen however. For one thing, Humans didn't have those kinds of weapons yet. Some aliens did however, but even those didn't freeze to that high a temperature. Most weapons like that froze to temperatures of around negative four hundred and fifty. It also wasn't uniform. It seemed to... fan out from one point rather than freeze everything solid immediately, which was what most weapons like that were supposed to do. It was almost like it was... defective.

"Doctor, come over hear and look at this, please," Sarah Jane piped up, dragging him from his thoughts.

He stood from Paxton's body, and walked across the room. Sarah was holding one of the many scattered blueprints. His eyes began to scan it while she talked.

"This is what he was building, but there is something missing from the bottem," she explained, pointing to a small circular object on the blueprint that was conspicuously gone from the actual creation. He recognized the schematics right away.

"Cold fire generator," he muttered, "they don't have those yet, not here on Earth..." He looked at the odd mechanism on the table. Built out of pipes and junk, including a few fire extinguishers and heat pump, it suddenly dawned on The Doctor what Paxton was making.

"It's a crudely made cryo-gun" he whispered darkly. Sarah Jane furrowed her brows.

"Really? There's no way this would have worked, is there? It doesn't look like it could do anything but fall apart," she asked sceptically. He shook his head.

"Of course not, there's nothing to redirect the excess energy from the coldfire generator. When he test fired it, it would have blown up the whole building," he said derisively.

Cold fire technology was used to power whole ships, not to power weapons. It took any sort of liquid or gas that normally needed the combustion process to fuel a ship and simultaneously super heated and super cooled it while shooting it into the hyperdrive so that a ship could move and sustain itself while keeping inward temperatures of well below zero. This all happened in that small, metal, baseball sized tank present on the blueprints, where it washed fuel in and out continuously at mind bending speeds. Just one could 'cold fire' enough fuel for a space ship to fly indefinitely. If used in a weapon, the energy out put was too great. It would overheat. All it did was make something into a large bomb. Apparently Paxton wasn't as good a scientist as people thought, since he was basically about to blow himself up. Unless that was his intention.

Humans didn't really have space travel yet, they were just barely sticking their toes into the endless pool above. Even if they did, cold fire technology was not something they could use because the main side effect was severe temperature drop. This was alien technology.

That begged the question; how did Paxton get it? It wasn't like cold fire generators just fell out of the sky or grew on trees. In fact, so few races across the universe even had that at this point that it made it difficult to decide who was even using it.

"He shouldn't even have that. No wonder he's dead," The Doctor mused darkly.

"Is it something someone would be willing to kill for?" his partner asked back.

"Absolutely. People will kill over very little. A peice of metal that can make a whole ship fly with very little effort? I'd say so," The Doctor shrugged. Who ever, or whatever, they were dealing with, was from someplace very cold, not that it really narrowed it down.

The Doctor turned around, put his hands behind his back and shut his eyes. He was missing something, something staring him right in the face that he couldn't see. A cold fire generator in the hands of a scientist, who was in turn killed with a possibly detective cryo weapon, by something big... too big to be human. Those shoe prints proved that. For once he felt like he knew a bit too much, as thought after thought ran through his head. Sometimes over two thousand years of knowledge had a way of clogging up the brain rather then being helpful. He knew once he figured out what was going on he was going to feel stupid. All the pieces were there, but he couldn't put the puzzle together.

"Alright... fine. If he was killed over that... thing, who killed him?" McGrewin abruptly asked, "and how? Its not like I can just walk up and freeze a man to death." The Doctor had forgotten he was there. It had been so nice.

"That's not the question you should ask," he answered, opening his eyes, "not who, or how, or when, or where, or even why. It isn't a wonder you police can't figure out anything but the obvious, you never ask the right questions to catch the killer," he scolded. McGrewin sighed in frustration and stomped out. Thank God.

"I know exactly what you mean," Sarah Jane stated, putting down the blueprints, "there's really only one important question in a mystery like this. Were there any other similar murders?"

As she finished, a smile spread across The Doctor's face.

"My thoughts exactly, Ms. Smith,"


	4. Chapter 4: Fascinating Discoveries

_(Author's Note: First off, Happy New Year Guys and Gals! Secondly, I'm going to do some subtle alluding in this chapter to the culprit of the crimes in this fic. I'm hoping perhaps some of you major Whovians will catch on. Or maybe the mystery will only thicken. We'll see!)_

"You should have told us right away, when we got here," The Doctor scolded.

"You've got to be kidding me!" McGrewin shouted, "You're MI6! Shouldn't you be on top of this crap?"

"Its alright, just give us the address, and we'll go and investigate it ourselves," Sarah Jane said, quieting the situation temporarily. McGrewin scribbled down something on his pad and ripped offa piece of paperpaper, slapping it into Sarah Jane's hand.

The Doctor was livid. When they had left the apartment, The Doctor had asked the head detective if there had been any other chilling deaths in the recent month. That answer had not been what he was looking for.

Not only had there been another mysterious deep freeze a week and a half ago, but it was another scientist in the same field of environmental science. He had been found semi-frozen in his lab.

"And let me guess, you people considered that an accident too!" The Doctor said sarcastically. What was wrong with these people? Stupid, that was what was wrong with them.

"Look, he was developing some kind of weather control device, and honestly it looked like something just went haywire in there and he got killed," McGrewin defended.

"And you didn't think to put two and two together when somebody else ended up a popsicle?" The Doctor asked, his angry gaze throwing daggers at the man. There was a plot afoot, he could taste it, and this man's inability to read between the lines was hampering his uncovering of said plot.

Had he said this right from the beginning, something like, "Oh by the way, this is the second popsicle man we've had in a few weeks," or "this sure is strange how many people are freezing to death these days," it may have helped his thought process right from the beginning. More then one death coupled with the missing coldfire generator meant this killer wasn't driven by some serial instinct to murder, nor some form of insanity. They wanted something, something they probably couldn't find. Assuming the cold fire generator wasn't it, or it wasn't the only thing they were trying to get their hands on, there would be another death, and it would happen soon.

"I'm getting right tired of you shouting at me!" McGrewin growled.

"Stop making a horse's arse out of yourself and I'll stop!" The Doctor replied snippily. McGrewin stepped forward visibly, and the Time Lord matched it, the two men standing nose to nose. He had faced down horrors far greater then a snide, shabby detective.

"Thats enough! Both of you!" Sarah Jane shouted, squeezing between the two men and pushing them apart. She grabbed The Doctors wrist and pulled him aside, to the edge of the parking lot. He gave one more glance at McGrewin who, adjusted his coat in aggressively and crossed his arms.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sarah Jane chided.

"What? He started it!" The Doctor almost whined.

"No he didn't! You'reYou're the one shouting," she replied, "he's just doing his job." The Doctor snorted.

"No he's not, he's the most shallow example of a leading detective I've ever seen. And..."

"It doesn't matter!" she said, cutting him off, "If he figures out we're not MI6, we're messed over. And you have to remember, not everyone puts things together as quickly as you do,"

"So I have noticed," he muttered, "maybe he should seek out a different career then," She just gave him a look and shook her head, then broke into a slight smile.

"Still impossible," she whispered.

"No matter how many times I regenerate, some things never change," mused The Doctor.

They soon took their leave, avoiding McGrewin at all costs. That was fine by the frequent-time traveller, he was quite tired of the man anyway. As far as he could guess, the feeling was mutual.

They reached Sarah Jane's car and The Doctor ducked in the passengers seat. Sarah started it up, and handed the paper over.

"Where are we going?" she asked. The Doctor glanced down at the address. He wasn't pleased with_ that_ either. It was typical of McGrewin's sub par work.

"Apparently, the apartment of Dr. Hugo Masters, in Islington," he replied, "you would think he would have given us the lab address, not his apartment."

"I'm not shocked, he didn't seem too happy we were meddling in his investigation," she shrugged, "besides, that isn't far from here, it shouldn't take long." She reved the engine of the VW Bug, and they sped away.

* * *

><p>It wasn't very long into the trip to Islington that Sarah again started talking. He knew she would, he could tell she had something on her mind, and he wasn't always the best at reading people's emotions.<p>

"What do you think we're dealing with here?" she asked, glancing over to the Time Lord. The Doctor ran his hand through his spiny grey hair. That really was the question, wasn't it? He didn't quite know, not yet, but he could rule some things out.

"Not Daleks or Cybermen," he replied. "They would be trying to take over London already, and in the case of the Cybermen, Paxton would have been assimilated, not killed." That was likely anyway. Maybe they were mixing things up a bit this time. He still doubted it. He could practically smell the Daleks at this point, and it would take the Cybermen some time to recover from their last defeat.

"Could it be Zygons? They hate fire, so maybe they're looking for a preeminent solution to combat it," she reasoned.

"I doubt it. They usually tend not to worry about it until it is right in front of them. Plus, its not a cunning strategy for them. They would have kept Paxton alive so they could mimic him," he said, shooting her idea down. Zygons could shape shift into almost any living creature so long as they had the person they were masquerading as alive. They did this with important people so they could slowly infiltrate governments or groups and take them over from the inside. This wasn't the work of Zygons. He could guarantee that.

"Wouldn't be Sontarans either, they're more focused on conquest than individual murders," she stated.

"No they prefer to kill thousands, and then get into the bloodiest possible battle," he nodded. They were a clone race of warriors who loved nothing more than combat. They lived for it. One scientist wasn't on the agenda. If they were going to attack it would lean more toward mass destruction.

"If its the Slitheens again, after this is through, you're taking me to Raxacoricofallapatorius, because I'm tired of dealing with them, and we're doing something about this" she grumbled. He had heard she had a few run ins with those green monstrosities after he last saw her. He couldn't say he blamed her for feeling that way.

"Honestly Sarah, I don't know what this is. I can tell you this though, I will find out," he replied. He still had his sneaking suspicions, but his mind was open to any possibilities, even the unlikely ones. The universe had a way of making the unlikely very likely indeed.

Slowly something dawned on him. This was the first time she had mentioned going anywhere with him in the Tardis when it wasn't an emergency. Sure, she had climbed in once or twice since they parted ways so long ago, but it had only been in dire times of need, such as the reemergence of Davros or when he had faked his own death to draw out his enemies. When he had asked her to come with him again during an adventure with his tenth self, it had been met with anger and sadness over him leaving her behind when he returned to Gallifrey. Anger and sadness he did not know she held onto. So for her to make a comment about going into the Tardis again...

He had a feeling, just for a second, as though he was his old self, that floppy vagabond with the hat and the scarf. He rarely felt like his former selves once he regenerated. He could remember how he felt, what he thought and what went on in his head, but once he changed, it always seemed alien to him. It was like the memories of another man in his head, but the same man in the same. It was rare when he felt the ghost of a former self creeping in. He wasn't sure if it was a good feeling or not.

* * *

><p>The drive over to Islington was rather calming, as calming as a bumpy car ride could be. Why he used to enjoy those so much was beyond him. On the upside, it was nice to spend time with someone who wasn't trying to kill him. He felt like that was becoming more and more rare these days.<p>

Masters' apartment was on a busy street near a shopping plaza. The sidewalks were cramped with pedestrians whoes hands were full of shopping bags, and finding a place to park here took ten straight minutes of driving. Once they did however, it was a short walk to the first floor walk up.

His wooden front door was a mess of crime scene tape, and was bashed in brutally. The Doctor tore the tape away and slipped inside, followed quickly by Sarah Jane. He pulled out his screwdriver, unsure of what he would find within.

This apartment was a studio like the last one they had visited that day, but the similarities ended there. This one was neat and tidy, a relievingrelieving sight from the rat's nest of earlier. Everything seemed to have its place; appliances on the kitchen counters spaced evenly for easy use, the table neatly arranged with chairs and a bouquet of, now dead, pink roses, and a small bookshelf against one wall with books rigidly vertical and arranged alphabetically. Even the pillows on the love seat were neatly fluffed, and the floors were so clean one could eat off them. The Doctor spied a bed behind a Japanese style screen, set up for privacy, like he was creating another room where there was not one before. Other then a few loose leaf notebooks on a coffee table by the love seat, this room was perfect and pristine, almost like no one lived here.

"Let's see if we can figure out why someone wanted him dead, shall we?" The Doctor thought out loud, stepping in. His mind was already at work as he walked across the main room, ducking his head behind the screen to look into the make shift bedroom.

He found what he was looking for; an alarm clock radio on the nightstand next to the bed. He pointed his sonic screwdriver at it and pressed one of the buttons. With a high pitched, warbling whine, the radio sprung to life, tuning right to the local police channel, exactly what he wanted. He had that gut feeling there was going to be another death, and it was going to be soon. He was going to make sure he heard about it this time.

"I'll look through the journals on the table, see if I can find out anything about Dr. Masters," Sarah announced. The Doctor was only sort of listening. He was more concerned with analyzing the room, particularly the bookshelf.

One could tell a great deal about someone by the things they read. For example, Paxton's books had all been about his field of study, proclaiming his career obsessed nature. The Doctor's was a mish mosh of many things, from text books of the futuristic sciences, to fiction like Harry Potter. Cosmopolitan was perhaps the word for it.

Dr. Masters' bookshelf was as equally diverse, but highly organized. The top shelf was filled with fiction, mostly by the literary elite, such as Shakespeare, Tolkien and Poe. On the second were his textbooks, most environmental science like those in Paxton's home. There were others however from the fields of Geology, Herbalism, and even Virology. Below that were historical books, about many of the human wars this planet had some how managed to survive over the years. So intent on destroying themselves... sometimes he wondered how they managed to survive for as long as they did.

"I'm not really finding anything Doctor, these are mostly filled with physics problems and geological reports from around Britain, no real research to kill over," Sarah Jane explained, leafing through a notebook. That didn't surprise him in the least. Someone this organized and obviously intelligent wouldn't just leave his work laying on the coffie table. No, someone like Masters would hide it, but not somewhere where it was inconvenient for him to get to it at a moments notice. He doubted he left everything about his occupation at work. Very few people did. Scientists like Masters, the elite, were like artists. They wanted their work near by so they could work on it whenever they had an idea, like the painter who gets up at midnight to start a masterpiece or the writer who wakes up at two in the morning just to jot down some words. His work was in this room some where, and he would wager it was on this shelf.

He examened the bookshelf closely. Near the left edge of the second shelf, was a text book simply titled 'Global Warming and Its Effects on Our World'. The relatively mundane book stood out among the rest because of its appearance. It was decidedly more worn than it's companions and had certainly seen more use and abuse. The spine was cracked and the pages were warped and just beginning to yellow where his thumbs constantly touched the paper.

He pulled that book off the shelf and flipped it over in his hands so the pages faced the ceiling, and dropped it on the floor with a loud bang. The pages naturally flipped open to the most used viewed section, an old trick he used often.

A small pack of papers fell out, fanning out across the floor. He bent down and picked them up. He smiled. This was what he was looking for.

The first page was a sketch of a large, clear, glass dome. It had wires and control mechanisms sticking out from both ends. Below, it had descriptions in French, and a bunch of arithmetic equalities that would look like nonsense to anyone unfamiliar with theoretical physics. He did not need to read this to know what this was, he recognized it immediately.

"I know what he was doing," The Doctor announced, "he was designing a weather globe,"

Weather globes were the first human foray into environmental control and terraforming technology. Within one, a scientist could create nearly any condition; from searing heat to frozen blizzards. One day, the technology would be expanded apon and used to tame mother nature's wild will on a larger scale, making once inhospitable planets gloriously temperate and giving life to the most dead places of the universe.

"Really?" Sarah Jane asked, walking over to peak over his shoulder.

"Ingenious really," The Doctor complemented with a nod of his head," This man made the breakthrough, as far as terraforming is concerned, of a millennium. Probably why he's dead," he tossed the first sheet of paper aside.

The next peice was a copy of a letter detailing his thoughts on the weather device's uses and the eventual benefits of the science involved. He knew all of that so he tossed that aside as well.

"I thought weather control was years away," she pondered, resting one hand on her elbow and her other on her chin, "how did he do it?"

The next page was what intrigued The Doctor, and as he looked it over his mind started to race.

It was a grainy photo of a weather globe just like the one Masters' had been building. It couldn't be his however; first of all The Doctor didn't even know if he had managed to finish his version, but secondarily, the picture was too old. It had a date stamp next to it, 1983. The date could have been forged to protect his asset but doubted Masters would be paranoid enough for that. He doubted he was paranoid at all.

Paperclipped to the photo was a paper Entitled "Mission Debriefing". He sneered slightly as he noticed all of the writing was covered over with black bars. The entire sheet had been redacted. He noted the crest at the top. The Unified Intelligence Taskforce.

"Unit," he muttered, "and their secrets."

The Doctor and Unit had a complicated relationship. He, and Sarah Jane for that matter, had worked with them many times throughout the years. A taskforce to protect against the paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to Earth, they were a secretive organization that would use any means necessary to protect Earth. The Doctor didn't always approve of those means, and it had caused enough friction between them that he tried to avoid them at all costs. They had a way of assuming every alien was an enemy, and had the tendency to go in guns blazing to occasionally disastrous results. Granted, they weren't as aggressive as Torchwood, but they were bad enough at times.

"There is no way he built that in the eighty's," Sarah Jane piped in, "our science here wasn't that far advanced to do that, not unless he had alien help."

"There's another option," The Doctor replied. She nodded.

"The same way Paxton got the coldfire generator. They both stole it from something more advanced then us,"

"My thoughts exactly," he said, smirking. He always liked that about her, she caught on quickly. He didn't always need to explain the obvious.

"But from who? It isn't every day that you just run into an alien just... walking down the street," she asked.

"You did," he pointed out. She gave him a dry smile.

"Got me there,""You should know better than anyone it isn't as uncommon as people would think to run into an alien. Most people just aren't smart enough to realize it when it happens," he said flippantly.

"Alright, so assuming the time stamp is correct, and he stole the technology, why wait until now to reveal it? He could have done that way back then and turned the scientific world on its head," she asked. The Doctor rubbed his chin and staired at the photo.

"Perhaps he couldn't get it to work," he replied, "or he had to fix it and he couldn't."

"So he would have had to wait for technology to catch up so he could repair it," his companion concluded.

"Well, you can't exactly claim someone else's invention as your own if you can't make it work. That isn't an invention, its just a peice of junk." He had to commend the dedication Masters had to this grand deception. To hang on to something that long with the hopes of one day making it appear like it was his creation took patients he doubted most people possessed, if they were indeed right about the scientist. He would be surprised if they weren't.

"So we have one stolen coldfire generator, and a possibly stolen weather globe, with two men frozen to death. What are your thoughts, Doctor?" Sarah Jane asked.

His head raced. Among all the ideas he had, of innumerable possibilities, one stuck out above the rest. He could think of one race who had coldfire technology and weather globes, one that could find their way to Earth. In fact, that had come to Earth already. A race all about environmental control and cold technology.

He was jarred from this thoughts by a voice over the radio, an emergency call that simultaneously peaked both his and Sarah Jane's interest.

"... is requesting backup at five Prewett Street in Islington, for an assault in progress. The suspect has taken the victim hostage in the apartment, and the responding officers need any and all available units on scene immediately."

Another voice crackeled over the raido, this one was painted with a slight Scottish accent not dissimilar to The Doctor's own.

"We're close by, we can take that call," he responded calmly.

"Be advised, the suspect is considered armed and extremely dangerous. According to reports, the suspect is around seven feet tall with a muscular build, so caution is advised," the other voice replied.

"Come again? I don't think I quite caught that, dispatch," the Scotsman responded.

"Seven feet tall, armed and dangerous," the first voice reiterated. More voices started calling in to respond. Apparently this was going to be all hands on deck as far as the police were concerned.

"I think we just found our culprit," Sarah said, echoing The Doctor's thoughts. There weren't many people that were seven feet tall, not humans anyway.

"That isn't far from here," he said, hustling for the front door, "let's get going. You drive,"

"Of course I will, its my car," she replied, hurrying up behind him.

"I doubt we can, but let's try and beat the police there. Before they make it any worse." If this was what he thought this was, they absolutely would make this worse. Much worse.


	5. Chapter 5: Cold Blooded

_(Okay so, long Author's note here. First off, would like to say sorry for such a long delay. There have been a lot of health problems with a loved one and it prevented me from writing. Hopefully things are rounding the corner. Second, I want to make a note bout typos. In the original post of the previous chapters there were many typos and mistakes. I must confess I am deslexic and I miss things. However a friend of mine helped me clean them up, so that its less messy. She will be doing that AFTER I post each chapter so I can re-edit it. It won't take as long as the first 4 so they won't be messy for long, however if you get here super early, bare with me. Lol _

_Ok so announcement time! I have two exciting things to announce. Due to the popularity of this story and all the great feedback I have received, I am extending The Doctor's and Sarah's adventures into a full, 12 story season! My second announcement is I have posted a poll on my profile of what you want to see in the next story following A Cold Reunion. I have ideas for the next possible storys already outlined so I will be ready to write as soon as this fic is done. Thanks for all the support, it has kept me going in this difficult time, and please vote! _

_Last but not least,I want to thank GDL for all her work editing all my mistakes on chapters 1-4 and her pending help on 5. She deserves a medal for what I put that poor girl through. Without further blathering, here's chapter five, in all its glory. Enjoy, and dont hate for the end fight at the end)_

Sarah Jane's VW bug sped through the streets as she kept her eyes locked on the police car in front of them. The Doctor wasn't sure why no one was giving them a ticket actually, considering they were not only speeding but they were also weaving in and out of traffic. Perhaps it was because the cops ahead were more focused on the hostage situation down town. Even though they probably didn't need to follow this close, between the droning roar of the siren and the blue and red beams flashing all around the street he was certain they could track it without being right behind it, it was imperative they didn't lose it. This could be their only chance to meet the culprit of the recent murders. He was not about to pass that up.

He hoped that was where this car was going, straight to the criminal they were seeking. Pulling out of Masters' apartment, they had seen a police car speed by and Sarah Jane immediately started to follow. If they weren't going to the hostage situation then this car was headed someplace else... someplace not nearly as ideal.

The scanner over radio was a garbled mess of voices, all scrambled together in some cacophonous wreck of panic. That always baffled him. Why did people always seem to all talk at once when something bad happened so no one could hear each other? They should just get organized first, and all talk one at a time. Pick an order perhaps, like stupid people speak last, smart people talk first. One would think a paramilitary groupe like the police would be more organized then this.

"This is insane, Doctor," Sarah muttered as they skidded around a corner.

"When is my life not?" he replied.

"Good point," she said, slamming on the breaks, jolting them to a stop a tiny bit too close to the police car's back bumper for his liking. It was obvious right away that they had arrived.

The tiny street was clogged with police cars and barricades. Cops of all types ran back and forth, busying themselves, preparing for a possible escape. He could see riot teams with bullet proof armor and shields standing in big groups on the front lawn of the house where the assault was happening. Large SUVs blocked off the exit at one end of the street, and the constant influx of officers made the other direction impossible as well. He could deduce the street on the other side of the house was about the same, blocking off the back exit of the house.

The house in question was a two floor, brick building. Comfortable was maybe the best way to describe it, with large windows complemented by idealic shutters, a garden filled with rhododendrons and roses, and even a disgustingly perfect white picket fence that would make the Cleavers jealous. It was like whom ever lived here was living the American Dream, in the wrong country. The yard was so perfectly trimmed he could imagine it winning competitions that judged such things. The Doctor took note that the inside drapes were pulled so no one could see inside, a classic rule in the hostage taker's handbook.

The Doctor and Sarah exited her car, and he started walking forward. If he was going to pretend to be MI6, he was going to have to act like he was MI6. He just hoped Sarah Jane played along. He made sure he stood tall, without slumping his shoulders. He put a serious look on his face, and walk with an undeniable authority so he would look the part. He pulled the psychic paper out of his back pocket, getting it ready.

He glanced backwards at Sarah Jane. She too had her head held high, her nose ever so slightly in the air, giving her a pretentiousness that usually seemed to fit most special agents. That was good. A wise man once told him that if you believe your lie, so will everyone else.

As they approached the front door the first officer near by stalked toward them, holding his hand out to stop them.

"Sir, Madam, stop right there!" the burly man shouted, "this is a..."

The Doctor cut him off, jamming the psychic so close to his face he almost slapped his forehead.

"Out of the way Muscles, this is an MI6 investigation now," he shouted, drowning out whatever the man was about to say with his aggressive voice.

"MI6? What in the blazes are they doing here?" the cop said, all of his confidence seeming to drain out of him, along with most of the blood in his face for that matter. Amazing how throwing around two letters and a number seemed to intimidate practically anyone.

"That's classified," Sarah Jane answered. Both she and The Doctor walked right on by, quick to leave, lest the officer start to have his doubts.

"Hey! Thats a hostage situation in there! You can't go up there!" The man shouted behind them, "you're going to get him killed!"

"I'm MI6, I can do as I please," The Doctor replied, "and by the way, you're fired for impeding our investigation." He heard the quiet sound that was something akin to a wretch and a whine intermingled escape the poor fellow. He couldn't help but smirk, just a little. That should keep him busy.

He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and turned the knob on the front door. It was unlocked and he swung it open.

He and Sarah Jane stepped through the threshold of the home, entering a tight hallway. The home was quite spacious indeed, with a fine, hardwood, stairwell directly in front of them. To the left was a door way leading to a big, comfortable kitchen. The Doctor took note of the expensive looking counter tops, made from stone mixed with crushed sea glass that caused them to sparkle in the little afternoon sunlight that peered through the closed drapes. The appliances were expensive too; the stove and microwave were top of the line, a luxury very few could afford these days.

To the right was a dining room with a large, oak table. It looked to be fine craftsmanship; the legs hand carved to look like the talons of a bird, and The Doctor could wager it was an antique. The four chairs at it were equally expensive, and a jewelled chandelier dangled high above, completing the lavish scene. The Doctor could see another room past the stairs, this one seeming to be some sort of sitting area.

The hostage taker was obviously not on the bottom floor, which only left the upstairs.

"What's the plan, Doctor? What are we going to do once we find out who... or what, is up there?" Sarah Jane whispered.

"I don't quite know yet, it depends on who it is," he replied.

"Oh, lovely, we're winging it as usual," she said dryly, "and did you really have to fire that poor kid? That's getting a little carried away, wouldn't you say?" He waved his hand dismissively.

"Of course not. I was just acting the part. You know... deep cover," he defended quietly. As he talked he examined the stairs with his eyes. He could see light boot prints, where someone had stepped in mud or something and then climbed the stairs. The prints were the same size as those in Paxton's house, a size The Doctor could happily classify as too large.

"I don't think MI6 operatives just walk around firing people," she argued, "that could be a tip off and get us caught, and despite how much I enjoy running around with you, I would really rather not get arrested because of you. Again,"

"It was a good distraction, and he stopped bothering us, so it served a purpose. We're on borrowed time anyway, they'll figure it out sooner or later," he shrugged. Depending on how smart these cops were would be the key to how much time they had. Half of him hoped they were all raving idiots like McGrewin. The other half hoped they at least had some working brain cells, in case whatever was going to happen upstairs went bad.

"Besides, if that happens, I'll just break you out," he shrugged. He could get her out of any prison lickidy-split in the Tardis. She smirked, with an ornery look in her eyes, then smiled.

"I would rather have it not get to that point," she returned pointedly.

"Agreed. Now, mind on the task at hand. Things are about to get dangerous," She nodded back briskly.

Sonic screwdriver at the ready, The Doctor crept up the creaking stairway as quietly as possible, with Sarah just behind him. He had a feeling he knew what this would be, meaning he knew how deadly this could potentially become. He was focused, and his wits were sharpened by the potential of danger. He did his best work under threat or pressure. Even still he couldn't deny that subtle prickle of excitement that rolled across his skin, and settled in his stomach, nor could he help the sly smile spreading across his face. He lived for this sort of thing. He couldn't refute that. Not even if he wanted too.

At the top of the stairs was a T-shaped hallway. Directly ahead was a rounded window, overlooking the home's well kept back yard. To the left was an open door, leading into the master bedroom. Much like the rest of the house, the furnishings were fancy to the tenth power. The double bed was made of hand carved wood, and covered with red, silk sheets. An ornate mirror called one wall home, while another was dominated by a dark varnished, antique dresser. A clay vase sat atop it, an old looking one, painted with faded scenes of shirtless men engaged in hand to hand combat. The Doctor recognized it as a the work of the ancient Greeks; after all, he had a few of those himself. He got them for nearly free however, as they had only just been made. This, in this time, would have set the house's occupant back a hefty sum of money. Along with all the other evidence that suggested it, The Doctor could guess the man who lived here was extraordinarily wealthy. Or he was in extraordinary debt.

The other door was slightly ajar, and he could hear a voice from within. It sounded panicked, with an air of desperation only someone with their back against the wall had. The man had an American accent, and a lazy, vapid sounding way of speaking that reminded him of that California stereotype that was so prevalentprevalent at this time.

"Look man, just tell me what you want!" he shouted. There was no reply back in the form of words, instead however a strange hiss like a snake and a loud ticking sound like an angry insect.

"You want money, I've got it, as much as you want! You can take my car, or my bling, or even my stocks, man! Just don't hurt me!" he begged.

With a sense of urgency, The Doctor rushed to the door, and turned the knob. The cold handle was locked tight. That was not a problem for him. Switching his sonic screwdriver to setting 16-B, he aimed the glowing head at the knob. The tool whined as he pressed the button, and turned it in his hand, waiting for the light click of the door unlocking.

It didn't happen. He furrowed his bushy brows. The hostage-taker must have done something to the door, either jammed something in the lock or frozen it with his weapon. He mucked around with the settings a bit, finding the defroster. That might work. All the while, the begging inside continued.

"If you won't tell me what you want, show me! Whatever it is you can take it! Just let me go!" the young man shouted.

"Doctor, we don't have time for this!" Sarah exclaimed. He continued pointing the tool at the knob. Water was starting to drip through the keyhole. Definitely frozen.

"He's frozen the lock, it will take time to defrost it," he explained back.

"It doesn't sound like we have that kind of time," she muttered, "Doctor... move!" She suddenly commanded.

He glanced back at her for a second, and stepped out of the way begrudgingly.

"Sarah, its not going to matter the lock is..." he started, but her actions interrupted him. With a yell and a heavy thump, she smashed shoulder first into the obstacle ahead. The wood cracked and gave way, the door flying open.

The Doctor blinked a few times. Did Sarah Jane really just break open a door? She looked at him, rubbing her shoulder painfully, then shrugged. He couldn't help but wonder when she became the muscle of this operation. Never had he known her to take such extreme action. That... he could appreciate.

He swept through the door first, screwdriver pointed out in front of him, ready for whatever was inside. Sarah Jane was right behind him, as always.

This room was a comfortable living space. A big, flat screen T.V. hung on one wall, while a floppy, leather couch inhabited the opposite one. A couple of recliner chairs also sat diagonal from the screen, set for optimal viewing. The glass-top coffee table in the room's center was covered in bowls of snacks and other bachelor pad esque messes that were more at home in a university dorm than a home like this. Photos hung on the wall depicted young people in times of fun, some seeming to be on vacation, others in local pubs or sporting events. A pair of big windows would have dramatically lit the room had they not been covered with bed sheets. This was obviously the most inhabited room of the home, not for show like the others. Rather than being decorated to proclaim the wealth of the home's owner, it was built for comfort, where one could lounge with some raucous friends.

The scene they walked in on was about what The Doctor figured it would be. The home's owner was a young man in his early twenties, with bleached blond hair. He had a sort of squared jaw, and deep set, vacant, green eyes, belonging to someone who partied too much and slept too little. He had that style a lot of young people that age seemed too; a striped T-shirt he probably paid too much for, baggy shorts with too many pockets, and "distressed" sneakers that were untied. It was more than likely his brain was more filled with alcohol than knowlage... curious considering the past murders.

He was being held on his tip toes by an intimidating behemoth in black robes. Far taller and obviously more muscular then the other, younger man, it was obvious that the former had easily overpowered the other.

Both heads turned to The Doctor and Sarah Jane when they entered the room.

"Hey! Please help me!" the young man yelled immediately, "he's gonna kill me!" The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at the hooded man, his gaze set.

"Put the idiot down, so we can talk. No one has to get hurt here, not fatally," The Doctor commanded.

Perhaps it was the seriousness of his tone, or maybe it was all in the accent, but the intruder did as he was told. Dropping the young man to the flats of his feet, he shoved him backwards, onto the floor with a yell. He started to get up but The Doctor held out his hand.

"Stay right there, don't move," he said. He wanted to keep both he and the assailant in his field of vision.

"Thankyou! Thankyou so much!" squeeled the young man.

"Shhhhhh," Sarah Jane hushed from behind, saving The Doctor the trouble.

"Why are you here, what do you want?" The Doctor asked, not taking his eyes off the robed figure. He was nearly positive now what this was. The reptile clicking, the heavy, hissing breath, the gigantic size; it all added up to one thing. Then the creature spoke, its voice a throaty growl mixed with a snake's hiss.

"To retrieve what has been taken from me, to right the wrong that has been done," it said. Its lizard like tone was very direct sounding and point blank, with a commanding edge.

"I didn't take anything from you! I..." the man on the floor started, but The Doctor nipped that in the bud.

"Shut up! If you want to live, you'll know to keep your mouth shut. This man, this honourable soldier, means business and won't hesitate to kill you," The Doctor stated. If that young man knew how much danger he was really in, he would be defecating on himself.

"Insolent egg," the robed figure muttered.

"Wait, honourable soldier?" Sarah Jane breathed, "is this... what I think it is?"

"If you're half as smart as I know you are, it is exactly what you think it is," he answered, "Isn't that right?" he asked, now addressing the giant, "the masquerade is over, we know what you are. Reveal yourself... Ice Warrior."

A hissing chuckle escaped the figure ahead.

"Very good," he replied, pulling the robes from around himself.

This creature was an Ice Warrior indeed. He wore dark green armor that resembled the scales of an alligator, but looked much heavier and more durable then simple skin. He could make out scratches and bullet scars from previous encounters with humans, but none were even close to penetrating. It's build was powerful, with thick legs and biceps resembling small trees, and its meaty hands were balled into agitated fists.

The Ice Warrior wore a helm shaped like a bullet, obscuring its entire face but for its fanged mouth. Red blast shield lenses coverd its eyes, adding to its already imposing wardrobe.

On his right arm, like all other Ice Warriors, was a gun barrel for the sonic weapon that came embedded in their armor suits. However, The Doctor took note of this one in particular. It was damaged, and had a glowing, dark blue, tube hooked to the back via a group of wires and a few pipes. He recognized the tube; it was a power unit for cryogenic chambers, the kind used to freeze people while they were alive and put them in stasis. This Ice Warrior had used it to fix his broken gun, making a freezing laser to defend himself with. That explained Paxton's inconsistent injuries, it was a pieced together weapon of opportunity, not one carefully made for combat.

"Jesus, what is that?!" the man on the floor shouted, beginning to squirm on the floor and cover his face. The Doctor ignored him. He pressed a button on the screwdriver, aiming it at the Ice Warrior's weapon.

"I have deactivated your weapon to keep this peaceful," he stated, setting his jaw. It was a gamble. If it reacted poorly, the reptile in front of them could, and would cheerfully, attempt to beat them to death. It was good the Tardis' telepathic circuits still worked this far away, enabling The Doctor, as well as anyone around him, aliens or human, to understand each other as though they spoke the same language. Otherwise, without his explanation, that motion could have been viewed as an act of war.

"Alright, you put down yours," he hissed in return.

"This is a tool, not a weapon, but I concede," the Time Lord replied, slipping the sonic into his coat pocket. This was a time for diplomatic solutions. With two dead bodies already surfaced, and a victim in progress laying on the floor, it was proven this was a Warrior willing to kill.

"What is your name and rank. You'reYou're an Ice Warrior, a Saurian, I know you have one," he asked.

"Grand Marshal Skaldak," he growled. Ice water ran into The Doctor's vains, and he took an involuntary step backwards. He had met Grand Marshal Skaldak once before.

Ice Warriors were the natives of the planet Mars, long ago when it had been frozen and covered in ice. Saurians, as they were called, were strong warrors, dedicated soldiers, and master terraformers. They managed to eke out an existence on Mars' frozen surface, building a powerful empire. That is, until Mars heated up and started to die. Unable to use their considerable weather control technology to cool their home, they set out into the stars. Some searched for a new home, some searched for new technology to fix their dying world, others went into stasis on their mother ship to sleep untill a new world was found.

Grand Marshal Skaldak, was one of their most valued and important members. The Doctor had met him before, on the sinking Soviet Submarine, The Firebird, in 1983. The Russians found The Grand Marshal after he had been trapped in the ice of the North Pole for five thousand years. The only thing that had kept him alive was his cybernetic armor, which automatically switched on the life support systems as though he were cryogenicly frozen, which for all intents and purposes, he was. Fearing for his life, he had gone on a murderous rampage, before being captured. Once he was told how long he had been alseep, realizing his beloved daughter was long dead and believing his people were extinct, the grief stricken Skaldak made an attempt to fire the nuclear missiles on board the sub as vengeance against his captors. Only after The Doctor's companion at that time, Clara Oswald, appealed to the memory of his daughter did he stop, realizing that he would cause the same pain in others as he himself felt. It was soon after a ship full of his own people came and picked him up.

When last The Doctor saw Skaldak, he was flying away in a space ship. It didn't make sense that he was here now, killing scientists.

Sarah Jane must have noticed the Doctor's reaction to the alien's identity.

"Doctor?" was all she uttered, almost silently.

"You are standing in the presences of Mars' most fabled and respected hero. He is the equivalent of mashing Hercules, Achilles, and Alexander The Great into one man," he explained quickly. Although she kept her calm exterior, he saw the way Sarah Jane's eyes widened. She understood the serious nature of this.

"It would seem you have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I do not know you," the Saurian hissed, the audible clicking in his mouth getting louder.

"You do know me, Skaldak. I am the Time Lord known as The Doctor," he announced.

"I have met The Doctor, and you are not him," Skaldak refuted.

"I have regenerated into a new body since you and I last met," he explained. The Ice Warriors were well aware of Time Lords by now, and how they worked. That was a carefully laid trap to see if he was lying.

"Why have you come here, Doctor?" the Grand Marshall growled. He took a step forward, in a not so aggressive yet still dominant way. As The Doctor answered, he did the same. The Ice Warriors had no respect for cowards, and he was not about to let this one believe he was.

"We were investigating the recent deaths you were involved in an they led us right to you,"

"These matters are not of your concern, Doctor" the reptile replied forcefully.

"When you start murdering people on my home planet, it makes it our concern," Sarah Jane suddenly spoke up, drawing a look from both Skaldak and the Doctor.

"I have killed no one not worthy of death," Skaldak replied.

"These men were civilians, Skaldak, scientists. That is against every aspect of your honor code," The Doctor replied, his hand grazing over his coat pocket. Every Ice Warror stuck to a code that was not only considered law on Mars, but a strict way of life. One of the most important rules, of this code was to never kill civilians. Bringing the honor of an Ice Warrior into question was a gross provocation, and usually ended in someone torn in half.

"In this case it is not! They were collateral damage while I took back what belonged to me. Even still, their deaths were deserved," he hissed back, taking another aggressive step. His shoulders were angered forward now, and his body was stiff. Agitation at its highest form.

"What justifies you murdering them? Because they stole from you? That's not a good enough reason," Sarah asked flabbergasted.

"I owe the likes of you no explanation," Skaldak stated indifferently.

"Oh no, if you think you're going to come on my planet, and kill a few of my race, in my city and then not have to give a reason why, you are sorely mistaken, Grand Marshal or not!" she finished, her jaw set and hands defiantly set on her hips. The Doctor almost never saw an outburst like that out of Sarah Jane. Perhaps it was age, or years of dealing with aliens, or the years of dealing with _him_, but whatever the case... he couldn't help but like it. She was always strong, always tough, now she was even more of both. Spunky... that was refreshing.

"They have taken everything from me!" Skaldak exploded, his booming voice reverberating off the walls, causing the young man on the floor to curl into a ball, "They have stolen our way of life, our salvation, and any hope for a future! If there are any who deserve death, it is those so called civilians who push my people toward annihilation! I am only taking back what is rightfully mine, and punishing those who have doomed us all!"

The Doctor's gaze narrowed to mere slits. How would stealing a weather globe, a coldfire generator and whatever other technology was missing doom their entire race? The Ice Warriors may have been in dire straights, but weren't that close to extinction. This wasn't making any sense.

"Hey man! I didn't steal anything from you, please don't kill me," burbled the young man on the floor through a wave to tears.

"Why him? What did he take?" Sarah Jane asked, "he says he took nothing,"

"He obviously did, look at this place, he made enough money off it to afford a house like this. You, on the floor, what did you take?" The Doctor demanded. Maybe this stolen item was enough to convince Skaldak of the impending, cataclysmic destruction of his people.

"I didn't, I swear! This isn't even my house. My dad just lets me stay here sometimes, it's his house!" he blubbered.

"Alright, who's your father?" Sarah Jane asked. This was like pulling teeth. The Doctor glanced at Skaldak, who was bristling with anger. He was loosing his patience, and they wouldn't have long before the Grand Marshal took things into his own hands.

"Joseph Lockman, he made he made the Stone Seeder,"

Finally, something that made sense. Stone Seeders, or Cliff Growers, were mechanisms that could deposit seeds on rocks or cliff faces and grow food from them like the rocks were the most fertile soil. Once again, Ice Warrior technology. Even still... that was not something that would cause the death of their entire race. Something else was at work, something making The Grand Marshal believe his whole species was in grave danger. He was missing something, some vital part that made this whole puzzle come together.

"Skaldak, I don't unders..." started the Time Lord.

He was interrupted by a loud bang behind them.

"Everybody put your hands up!" yelled a cockney accent.

The Doctor and Sarah Jane both did put their hands in the air, and spun around. Behind them stood detective McGrewin, though now he was dressed in a bullet proof vest rather than his trenchcoat. On his belt were a handgun, a can of pepper sprey, a hand held stun gun and a baton; this was a man who was trying to prepare for everything. His green eyes were covered by a pair of thick glasses, and in his hands he held a riot shotgun.

"I said everybody put your hands..." he trailed, as his eyes fell on the Ice Warrior Grand Marshal, "What the hell is that!" He only panicked for a moment, regaining his composure quickly, and aiming the gun at Skaldak."Alright, freak, hands up," he ordered, "kid, get out of here," Joseph Lockman's son did as he was told, crawling to his feet with his hands over his head, and running out the door.

"Detective McGrewin, thank you for securing the scean, but I'll take it from here," came a second voice from beyond the room. The Doctor recognized it long before she walked in.

The woman that came through that door was a tall, straight edge agent with short, ear-length blond hair. Her lips were stern, and the wrinkles on her face caused by years of stress. Her brown eyes were as calculating as ever, and she carried herself with an air of confidence that suited her position. Kate Stewart, dressed in a tight fitted pants suit, held her hand gun out in front of her, her eyes immediately locking on The Ice Warrior.

"UNIT, I should have expected that," Sarah Jane grumbled. It didn't seem she was particularly happy to see the Unified Intelligence Taskforce again, nor the daughter of her old friend Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart.

"Ms. Smith, it has been a long time," Kate said nodding to her, "and Doctor, you may take your leave, this is under Unit control now,"

"I think not, Kate, you should know me better that that," he replied. He looked back at the agitated Skaldak. His chest was heaving with rage, his eyes locked on Kate Stewart.

"Officer McGrewin, please escort The Doctor from the building. Doctor I am surprised I'm even saying this but this is not your business."

"All of time and space is my business," he replied curtly, "besides, you could use the back up," McGrewin got his two cents in next, his nerves creeping into his voice

"I'm inclined to agree with him ma'am," The Doctor just smirked.

"Smartest thing you've said all day,"

Kate ignored everyone else, keeping her gun on Skaldak. She spoke directly to him, voice fierce.

"You are a fugitive of the United Intelligence Taskforce, and wanted for the murder of two of Earth's scientists. You will surrender yourself and be taken back to the holding cells for your crimes. Comply with these rules, or you will face deadly force,"

"I will not go back to your prison, flesh whelp, I have too much I must accomplish, before it is too late," Skaldak answered.

"What do you mean _back_," The Doctor exclaimed. Had they had Skaldak locked up since 1983? How did they get ahold of him.

"I told you Doctor, this is not your concern," Kate spat. Sarah Jane eyed the unit officer with disdain.

"What did you people do?"

"What we had to!" The Doctor's companion only shook her head at that.

"Unit and their secrets," was her only reply.

"Your puny, human weapons wouldn't even penetrate my skin, let alone my armor," Skaldak stated, in a very matter-of-fact way. The grey hair on the back of The Doctor's neck stood on end. Skaldak was suddenly calm, as all Ice Warriors were where they were born to be; battle. He was ready to attack.

"We'll see about that. This is your final warning, surrender now or I will use lethal force," Kate yelled.

"Kate, Skaldak, listen we can we can figure this out. There is obviously some terrible miscommunication going on here. We can..." the Time Lord started.

"Doctor!" Kate interrupted, "if you don't help me bring in this Saurian, then i I will bring you in right beside him. Don't test me, I will do it!" Every single eye in the room fell on Kate in utter disbelief.

That lapse in attention was all Skaldak needed.

"Look out!" Sarah Jane screemed, her horrified voice filling the room. The Doctor turned back toward the Ice Warrior just as a small, egg shaped ball left his right hand, sailing through the air. It hit the floor and rolled, as The Doctor pulled his screwdriver out of his pocket.

"Grenade!" McGrewin yelled, followed by the defining bang of his firing shotgun. Kate lept backwards, knocking Sarah Jane down with a pained cry.

The Doctor didn't move, didn't even blink. He aimed the screwdriver at the grenade, and pressed the button. He hoped they still used sonic flash grenades, otherwise they were in serious trouble. The tool warbled loudly.

Blinding light burst into the room, causing the Time Lord to avert his eyes. Had he not done anything there would have been an ear shattering explosion that would leave them all permanently deaf. He couldn't disable both, but figured being blind for a few seconds was the lesser of two evils.

He heard a loud crash, followed by gunfire outside and shouts of fear. The sounds did not last long, not even a full minute. Skaldak had escaped out the window, and he doubted the policemen outside had brought him down. He was on the run yet again.

His vision started to return slowly, the room blinking into view. If he had wanted to, the Grand Marshal could have set that grenade to blind them all for hours but he didn't. The Doctor set his jaw. There really was more to this than it seemed. If he was simply blood thirsty, they would all be dead. Perhaps he was hoping The Doctor would investigate. He had every intention of doing so.

The Doctor grabbed Sarah Jane's hand and yanked the half blind woman off the floor to an appreciative nod. She did the same for McGrewin. Kate on the other hand sprung up at her own volition, and rushed to the window. She glanced out in panic, then turned back angrily, stomping back into The Doctor's face.

"How dare you! You..." she growled, but The Doctor's loud Scottish accent easily drowned her out.

"No! How dare you! I have done nothing but protect your world over and over from apocalypse after apocalypse, most of which haven't even happened yet, and you threaten to throw me in prison for attempting to find a diplomatic solution to whatever you've done here? What are you hiding Kate!" he demanded.

"That Ice Warrior has murdered two of the highest ranking scientists in the country! You actually want me to make a deal with that?" she asked back with an abashed look.

"He was scared, people do desperate things when they're scared. He thinks his people are dying! What would you do in his place?" Sarah Jane reasoned.

"My point exactly!" shouted The Doctor, "look at what you were willing to do to him, and your species isn't even in danger of extinction! He's been robbed, and something happened that has made him think his species _is_. I know Unit is involved, because I found the official papers in Hugo Masters' house. What is Unit hiding?"

"You are treding on very dangerous ground, Doctor. There is no solution here that saves both Unit and Skaldak, not with what has passed. Either way, weather alive or not, Skaldak has got to go," Kate growled.

The Doctor was taken aback. He had seen death, and caused more than his fair share, much more then he would like, but it was always the final option, when everything else was exhausted. The Moment was the final option. The Clockwork Man falling to his death was the final option. The Mistress being disintegrated was the final option. Had the Cyberman invasion done this to her? Made her so willing to kill to... protect some kind of secret? Made her so... bitter? Lethbridge, her father, was a soldier and a protector. He knew the value of life however, human and alien. Only one thing came to mind to say.

"Your father would be ashamed of you," he whispered, disgusted. Sarah Jane gasped, and the hurt look on Kate's face was almost like none other he had seen. She did not cry, but he caught the slightest tremble of her upper lip.

Abruptly, she cocked back her hand, and slapped it across his cheek, sending hot pain into his face. Then she pointed her gun at him.

"Doctor, you are under arrest by The Unified Intelligence Taskforce for impeding our investigations into matters of national security. Put your hands up and on your head," she ordered, "and drop the screwdriver. I swear to god, if you try anything, I don't care how many regenerations you have left, I will shoot them all." The Doctor smirked.

"How far we fall," he snorted. He dropped his tool on the floor with a heavy clang and raised both hands.

"No! No you can't do this!" Sarah Jane yelled, grabbing at Kate's back. The agent grabbed her arm, and pushed her back.

"Frankly, Ms. Smith, I can do as I please. Detective McGrewin, arrest Ms. Smith as well," she said flippantly.

"Ma'am are you..." the policeman stuttered, walking closer to Sarah Jane, with a less then confident look on his face.

"Just do as you're told!" she shouted.

He reached his hand toward Sarah Jane. She wasn't having any of it. She ducked beneath his arm and slamed her shoulder into his chest. Kate looked back at the commotion. That was the only chance he needed.

With one hand he grabbed her wrist and pushed it out wide, and with the other grabbed her gun and pulled down. With a surprised cry the gun fell from her grasp. He saw Sarah rip the stun gun off of McGrewin's belt as he stumbled backwards, hitting hard into the coffee table with a yell. She pressed down on the button, and apon seeing the tiny blue arcs of lightning, lunged for Kate.

Busy dealing with The Doctor's assault, she did not even see his companion coming. The stun gun pressed right against her neck.

Kate immediately stood up rail straight, her teeth clenched together, and her whole body jerked in place. Sarah left it against her skin for a few seconds, just to be sure, before letting it go. Kate dropped to the ground with a dull thunk, completely unconscious.

The Doctor looked down at her, fixing the cuffs of his wished they hadn't had to do that, not to Kate. He looked at the flustered Sarah Jane, who's chest heaved with deep breaths. She nodded at him.

"Good job," he noded in return.

"Don't move," came McGrewin's voice. The Doctor turned his head, finding the detective on his feet. He had the riot gun pointed at his head.

"You are going to explain some things to me, and you're going to tell me the truth, or I swear I will put a bullet in you," he said.

"I told you before, I'm special agent Jon Smith..." McGrewin just pumped his shotgun.

"Last chance," he growled

"Fine, you want the truth, I'll give you the the truth. I'm a two-thousand year old alien from the planet Gallifrey named The Doctor. I travel through time and space in a time machine shaped like a police phone box. You can shoot me if you like, but I'll just regenerate into a new body, with a new face and a new personality, because that's what happens when I die. This is my fourteenth body, thirteenth regeneration, twelfth that took the name Doctor. This is Sarah Jane Smith, who I've met with almost every body at some point. What you just saw was an Ice Warrior, a native of Mars, and we're trying to investigate why he's killing, and what Unit is up to. You wanted the truth? There it is."

"Wait, fourteenth body?" Sarah Jane asked, her face scrunched into a ball of confusion.

"I will explain later."

McGrewin just stared at them both blankly with his mouth open for a few moments, not unlike a caught trout.

"Okay..." he said slowly, "that... makes... no sense, which, all things considered," he motioned to the window and the unconscious Kate, "is why I beleave you." Relief flooded through The Doctor as the gun came away from his head. Maybe McGrewin wasn't as dumb as he had thought.

"How can I help?" the detective asked.

"H-help? You want to help?" The Doctor asked, eye brows raised.

"With what I just saw, you bet I do," he replied. The Doctor shrugged. He was never one to refuse help, even from the likes of him.

"Alright, can you get us out of here? Without getting us shot?" Sarah Jane asked, finally calm from their encounter.

"Yes I need to get back to my Tardis," The Doctor agreed.

"If I pretend to arrest you I can," McGrewin nodded.

"Excellent," The Doctor picked up his screwdriver.

"What are we doing once we get there?" Sarah Jane asked.

"Find out what Unit did," he replied, "by breaking into Unit headquarters."


	6. Chapter 6: Unit's Secrets

Detective McGrewin's grey sedan drove through the London streets calmly, so as not to arise suspicion. The detective himself had kept calm and cool, managing to evade the rest of the police, long before they would find the unconscious Kate Stewert. He had told the police she needed to be alone for her Unit special investigation; no one would dare question the authority of Unit. His pair of passengers, Sarah Jane and The Doctor, were his supposed prisoners, another falsehood constructed to make an escape.

Sarah Jane appreciated all the work McGrewin had done for them. Most officers would have turned them in, or worse, shot The Doctor on sight. She was just getting used to this model, she would hate to see him disappear in a blinding flash of golden light like the rest before him had. How unfair that would have been.

She rested her head against the window of the backseat, seeing London's busy streets roll by. In the reflections of the passenger-side mirror, she caught a glimpse of the Time Lord. He was staring at the dashboard, his intense blue eyes lost in thought.

She had only been back in his company for about three or four hours, and they had already seen two dead bodys, impersonated two MI6 officers, run afoul of an Ice Warror hero, shocked the daughter of an old friend into unconsciousness, and pretended to get arrested in order to avoid actually getting arrested. She smirked. All in all a productive day alongside the last of the Time Lords.

That was what The Doctor's life was, chaotic adventure. Boring moments were few and far between with him, it was his nature. One was just as likely to see a majestic space-scape and galaxys unknown as explosions and gunfire when in his company. Traveling with him was not for the faint of heart. When she ran into him and they decided on one last hurrah, half of her wasn't sure if she could do it anymore. She was middle aged now after all, not some twenty something who didn't know any better. Luckily, she had slipped right back into it like putting on an old glove.

This Doctor was different than all the rest however, including those she had travelled with previously. He was older again, not those young things she had seen twice previously. He was grumpy and brooding, even more so than the dashing adventurer with the overcoat and the colorful scarf she had run off with all those years ago. That was saying something too, because that one certainly had his moments. He was more blunt now than ever, more than willing to tell someone exactly what he thought of them and why, like he had no filter. The one thing that stood out was his new eyes. How... intense they were, like they could bore through steel if he stared at it long enough. She could tell by his eyes alone he was so much older than when they last met.

He was still the same man however, that much was obvious. He still had the same confidence, the brilliance that came from decades of wandering the cosmos. That compassion for others was around too, as testament to him taking Skaldak's side. It was just closer to the vest. The rapier wit, thurst for knowlage, love of excitement and his unique ability to jam his nose into every situation he did not belong in were all the same. He still fought for what he believed was right, even if every person in the whole universe was against him. She would be lying if she said she wasn't glad to see he was still "The Doctor", and he was still her friend.

Yet there was something that ate at the pit of her stomach and nagged in the back of her mind, just a splinter pin-pricking into all the excitement. He was here, yes, but only for now. Soon he would be off again, and disappear from her life into the stars somewhere. He would leave her behind like he always did, like he eventually did to everyone. The first time had been devastating. She was naive perhaps, that she thought it would last forever. Even still, that day he left her behind, in Aberdeen, Scotland no less, broke her heart. She had tried not to hold it against him. He was nearly immortal. She wasn't. It was that simple. He had a much longer life to live than her. Sometimes it was admittedly hard however, as he was a tough act to follow. Over the years, that pain had faded some. Time did heal all wounds. He popped in and out of her life from time to time, and she was always happy to see him. That was the meaning of true friendship; always being happy to see your friend after years, even through pain or what ever happened in between. If there was ever someone she knew was truly her friend, it was The Doctor. The second side of that coin was she was horribly sad to see him leave too, even all these years later. She knew it was selfish, because there was no way she would ever make him stay in the piddly-by-comparison London when there was literally all of space and time at his fingertips. Then again, when was caring for someone else not at least a little bit selfish?

"Alright, so," McGrewin started, jarring her from her thoughts, "how exactly are we going to break into Unit HQ? We don't even know where it is!"

"It's beneath the tower of London," both The Doctor and Sarah Jane said in unison.

"Jinx," she followed with a smile.

"I didn't relize it was such common information," the detective groused.

"It isn't, we've been doing this for a long time," The Doctor replied.

"That doesn't make it much easier, just because we know where it is doesn't mean we can get to it," continued the cop. The Doctor shrugged.

"That's what the Tardis is for."

"Tar-dis? What in the blazes is that?"

"It stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space," The Doctor explained.

"That really doesn't..." McGrewin trailed off, eliciting an exasperated sigh from The Doctor.

"Its his space ship. It can go anywhere in space and time," Sarah Jane clarified. It was just easier that way. The Doctor would get to that explanation sooner or later, but this saved time. She wasn't sure if this regeneration was one of the ones that went through all the confusing explanations first. McGrewin rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"So it's a time machine. Guess you weren't kidding 'bout the whole time travel thing." The Doctor shook his head derisively.

"A 'time machine' is the simplest possible way to think of it. The Tardis is so much more sophisticated than that. It would boggle your mind with the things it can do,"

"I'll just stick with 'time machine' if its all the same to you," McGrewin replied, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Don't worry, Detective, there's a learning curve," Sarah replied. She remembered how overwhelming it all could be, and how confusing it all seemed to begin with.

"What is breaking into Unit going to solve? Won't that just... exacerbate all of this," McGrewin continued.

"Oh absolutely,"The Doctor confirmed, "however, the stakes are already obviously high. If Skaldak believes his entire race is in danger, there is something far more dangerous involved here, and Unit is neck deep in it. If we break in, we can find out what is really going on." As crazy as it sounded, Sarah Jane agreed. Things were rarely as simple as they first appeared. If there was anything that she learned from The Doctor, it was that.

"Won't they recognize you immediately? Once you step foot in that place and they get you on camera, the alarms are sure to go off," reasoned Sarah Jane. There was no way of convincing her Unit didn't keep an eye out for him. Each version of him.

"Precisely why you and McGrewin will be doing the breaking and entering and I'll be taking a less active roll in this endeavor," the Time Lord replied.

"Wait! Hold on a minute!" McGrewin exclaimed.

"No let's hear him out," Sarah Jane replied. "What makes you think they won't notice me? They have to have photos on file of me."

"They'll notice you, but it will take them longer. Most of the photos are old, when you were younger. Or of your back checking the mail,"

"So as long as I keep my face to the cameras I should be fine?" she replied with a wry grin.

"All I'm saying is they're not expecting you, nor McGrewin, and certainly not together," he replied.

"Why me? I know practically nothing about Unit?" the detective questioned.

"You said you wanted to help!" The Doctor answered with an exhausted look, "This is helping. This is what helping entails! Its not just 'thanks for the ride bucko', it consists of breaking into Unit, stopping alien invasions, robbing super banks,"

"Robbing super banks? When did you become a bank robber?" Sarah Jane interrupted with a smile. It made her wonder what else he had been up to lately.

"Oh that's a great story, I'll have to tell you sometime," he replied with a charming smirk, "anyway, you know helping, assisting, consulting."

"You mean becoming your partner in crime," McGrewin nodded sarcastically.

"Occasionally." A long silence followed.

"I must be bloody crazy," the detective started, "but I'm in. I always wondered what the hell Unit really did. Now's my chance to find out." Sarah Jane cought that slight smile on McGrewins face in the rear view mirror, that same one children got when they knew they were doing something wrong but did it anyway. That tiny glint of mischief in his green eyes was all she needed to see. He would be perfect for this. Plus, he was already harbering a pair of fugitives. He probably figured he was already down a rabbit hole so why not?

"Excellent. Now, Sarah, you have your sonic lipstick on you I would assume, yes?" the Time Lord asked expectantly. He was about to be disappointed...

"Not exactly... no," she replied sheepishly. He turned around in his seat, mouth agape, and glared at her with those intense orbs.

"What? I thought you carried that everywhere. You're supposed to carry it everywhere," he admonished. He had given her a sonic lipstick, which in all uses was a cleverly disguised sonic screwdriver, when he had fixed K9 for her. She had gotten a great deal of use out of it for a long while, but not as often recently.

"Things have been fairly quiet for awhile, not as many alien threats as there were a few years ago. I haven't carried it for a few months," she confessed.

"Alright... no matter. Here," he tossed his screw driver to her, with her catching it single handedly. It was bigger than his last model, with a bright green tip instead of blue. She was very familiar with how to use the sonc screwdriver, even if it had changed throughout the years.

"I like the changes you've made to this. Very streamline," she commented.

"Thankyou!" he returned, "just... don't use setting omicron-phi, I'm still working on that one. Last time I used it, it knocked out the power for three blocks."

"Noted," she grimiced.

"Stop right here, the Tardis is in the ally to the left," he instructed. McGrewin did as he was told, parallel parking across the street.

"You just leave your time machine in an ally? Thats a bit daffed," he commented.

"You can't get in it without a key, or some heavy firepower," Sarah Jane explained. The Doctor nodded.

"Precisely. Besides, it's inconspicuous."

They exited the vehicle, and crossed the road, ducking into the tight ally. Then Sarah Jane saw it.

The dark blue police box sat there as nice as you please, the white windows lit welcomingly. It was almost exactly as she remembered it, like she had never left it. The memories came flooding back to her immediately; the time she first walked in it and realized it really was a time machine, traveling the universe inside it, the way it smelled like machinery and metal mixed with new car, watching it dematerialize away and leave her behind, then seeing it again decades later in a matinance room in a school. Nothing could replace the feeling of seeing that box. It was euphoric, like she could do anything. That's what the Tardis was... complete and utter freedom. She wondered if this Doctor had redecorated like those before him.

"That... is your time machine? Blimy, you people are crazy! I shoulda' known!" said McGrewin, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Ah relax, come have a gander," The Doctor shook his head. He stepped up and put the his key in the lock, then pushed it open.

Sarah Jane stepped up first, a bit more eager than was healthy, and stuck her head through the door. She wanted to see it again, all the "bigger on the inside", and what it looked like this time.

It was much darker than last she saw, the lights in hues of dark blue and aqua. Circular lights glowed from the walls in dark yellow, reminding her of an updated version of the classic "roundels" that used to make up the walls entirely. An upper walkway circled the entirety of the big, round room. She could see a book shelf on one wall, and a few chalkboards sitting about elsewhere, as well as a table adorned with candels and a fine looking chair. This all gave it a sophisticated look as though it perhaps belonged to a professor, a far cry from the whimsical Tardis she had seen from they young looking regeneration who wore the bow ties.

Multiple sets of stairs cascaded down from the overlook, down to the main console area. There was a great deal of floor space to move around, so one could walk freely around the center controller and use each of its facets. The console itself was hexagonal in shape, and dominated the room. Its various panels were sleek and high tech, with all manor of glowing buttons and funny looking leavers. A computer screen on a moveable stand stuck out near the top, able to be slid and pushed wherever it was needed.

Sticking from the center of the console, and rising all the way to the cealing, was a giant glass tube. It was filled with more glass tubes, and lit with an eerie yellow light that reflected off all of the metal surfaces. That was the Time Roter which, when in motion, would move up and down, creating that unique grinding sound only a Tardis made.

Looking at it, though different it was, elicited the same feelings she had so long ago. How could it not? After all, it had had the biggest effect on her life. The Doctor walked in, and she followed, almost like being welcomed home after a long absence.

McGrewin walked up and looked in, ducking his head a bit. His mouth dangled open in shock as he first poaked in his head, then pulled it back out, looking at the outside. He walked in cautiously, as though it were about to explode, and stuck his head back out, looking at the outside in disbelief. He turned to The Doctor, trying to regain himself.

"I... you... this..." he stuttered, "it's... bigger on the inside,"

"Of course it is. I told you it's a time machine," The Doctor then abruptly turned to Sarah Jane, a wide grin plastered on a face dripping with expectant excitement, "what do you think? Do you like it?"

"I love what you've done with it!" she exclaimed, "it's very sophisticated. Definitely back to your impeccable sense of style. Very streamline,"

"Yes! I knew you would like it!" he shouted, "I'll have to show you around the rest of the place sometime, I've made so many changes you wouldn't even recognize the place!"

"I've never seen anything like this..." the detective trailed off.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you haven't. Shut the door, we have work to do," the Time Lord instructed. He glided over the console's many buttons and switches, deftly tapping and pulling in a blur of activity. She saw him grab the suspended monitor and yank it over so it was in front of him. There was a fuzzy image of the Tower of London on screen, in all its glory. The Doctor abruptly jogged away and up the stairs, to the shelves on the the balcony. He came down as quick as he went up, and handed a pair of items to Sarah Jane.

One was a tiny ear bud like those on headphones. The other was a small box of contact lenses.

"Here, put these on. With them you can hear me from the Tardis, and I can hear and see everything that you do. I'll drop you off in Unit HQ's subbasement, and go into orbit just outside of Earth's atmosphere. I'll guide you around, I can get the maps up on the Tardis' console."

"Are you going to be able to do that? I mean, transmit from that far?" McGrewin interrupted. The Doctor just shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't be stupid," he replied dryly, "now, according to the schematics, I can pin point some... abnormalities already that could be worth investigating. I figure together, you and McGrewin can figure out what Unit is up to."

As he finished, Sarah Jane put in the ear peice and the contacts. The Doctor tapped the screen on the Tardis console a few times, before the picture came in clear as day, of his back turned to her. He gave her a quick thumbs up.

"Testing testing," he said. His voice echoed out of the Tardis console. "Perfect. Any last questions before we start?" She saw McGrewin open his mouth. "Good! Let's get going then!" Before anyone could say anything, he yanked back the leaver.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty Miles Outside of London<strong>

Major Donald Sanders did his daily watch dutys in Fort Springfield. A rather tall and neat looking man, with short, dark hair and a neat moustache, his firm, no nonsense sillouette was instantly recognized among Unit's elite. An owner of many accolades concerning the combat of extraterrestrials, he was perhaps one of the most respected individuals in all of the British military. Having battled Dalaks, Cybermen, Zygons, and even Sontarians, his experience in combat was almost unparalleled among humans.

This, ofcorse, made him perfect for his job; the commander of Fort Springfield. As far as all civilians, and even much of the military, this fort did not not exist. Located in a grassy field in scenic no where, on the top of a hill, surrounded by barbed wire fencing, and even lacking a road to approach it, Springfield was perhaps the most closely guarded secret Unit had. Only fourty or so people even knew its name, and most were the secluded place's guards, and ofcorse, Sanders.

At first glance it wasn't much to look at. A chain link fence surounded it, with four big watchtowers placed out evenly on each corner to guard against intruders. There were few buildings on the inside. To the west were the barracks, where the troops that guarded this place slept. There were few, but they were well trained. Next to that was a mess hall, and the latrines. Though likly in too close proximity to each other for the liking of the guards, when space was at a premium, one had to make do.

Across from the barracks was the armory, where guns and ammo were stored. Sanders was the sort of man who made plans. Some may call him paranoid, but his armory was stocked to the gills. If his fighting force was small, he was going to make sure they had enough ordinance to start World War Three should the need arise. Most of the armorments may have been a tad outdated by Unit standereds, but in most cases, they got the job done. All around were defensible positions, piles of sandbags to take cover behind, and machine gun nests surrounded by barbed wire. All of these would help in case of a siege.

The south end of the base was what the entire place was built around. A giant stone bunker the size of a small apartment building called that place home. It was imposing to look apon; windowless and dark like a prison, with barbed wire hugging tight the roof. A large, metal door was the only way in or out. It required more clearance than most government buildings in the world; a key card, a code on the keypad, a second card, and finially, three keys specifically made for the clockwork locks on the door. Only two people on this base were allowed in that building, Sanders himself, and Lieutenant Smithers, his second in command. Even Smithers had to have supervision when entering.

Sanders went through all the needed clearance, and opened the metal blast door. This was his job and his alone. Every two hours, on the hour, he was to open the door and check the contents of the bunker for intruders. Even though he was told the bunker was bomb proof, blast proof, fire proof and absolutely impenetrable, he was to check. Lives depended on it after all.

He walked into the dark bunker. Although one would not think it to be true, the giant building was one, singularly massive room. It was bathed in an ever present, dark blue light, that under the correct circumstance could have been construed as comfortable. Here however, it was just brooding, giving everything a dark edge it would not have normally had.

The building had no inner floor, just crunchy, dead, grass and dirt that had not seen the light of day in over thirty years. This was to "preserve the scene" they had told him. It did not seem quiet safe to him, because he thought that a dedicated enough intruder could tunnel in. Even though the higher ups told him the walls went a mile into the ground to protect against just that, he still wasn't convinced.

The object this bunker housed could only be called one thing; it was a space ship. It was almost a stereotypical flying saucer, but instead of being completely flat it was more funnle shaped, the thickess diminishing towards the bottem. Arms ending in diamond-shaped apparatuses stuck out from the top somewhere high above. Sanders guessed they were used to land the massive ship. All sorts of lights glowed blue all around the ship, which gave off the eerie glow that illuminated this room. Even through that light, one could tell the metal it was dark green in pigment.

The ship stuck out diagonally out of the ground. A dirt trench of massive proportion led up to it where it had skidded to a stop long ago. This trench had once been outside the bunker as well, but had long sence been been filled in to hide what lurked in the building. Nearly half of the ship was buryed in the dirt. It almost looked like an alien tombstone the way it jutted up silently from the earth. Near by were a pair of its arms, bent and broken by the impact, and torn off by the force of the crash. Sanders couldn't help but wonder what this had looked like when it happened. He imagined it had to have been like a plane crash, only magnified by a hundred.

There was a doorway on the ship's side, crooked in the ships crashed nature, with a ramp constructed up to it out of wood and sheet metal. That probably the only human made object in the room. The doorway was covered in heavy duty plastic and cordoned off with tape. No one was to go in or out under penalty of death. Shoot on sight were the orders regarding that door.

That was Sanders' job. To come in, every two hours, and check the plastic and tape. Once he was sure it had not been disturbed, that all was the same as when last he left it, he left, to come back in two hours.

For something he spent so much time around, so much time thinking about, so much time guarding, he knew nothing about it. Not who's ship it was. Not why it crashed. Not where it came from. He contemplated that sometimes, but quickly dismissed it. If he needed to know it, he would have. Obviously, Unit didn't think he did.

Unit was annoying that way. They always left out information they believed was classified or dangerous. Rather than give even a commanding officer like him the full story, they would rather protect their secrets, clenching them with an iron fist.

Protect them shabbily in his not so humble opinion. Sure, the precautions for the bunker itself were in place, but outside, he was less then confidant. Although his men were trained excessively, and well armed, there was not nearly enough of them for his liking. If they were to protect some kind of crashed ship, then they could expect the former owners to return some day. He had asked for more men on multiple occasions, only to be told to make due with what he had. Not only that, his troops weapons were less than state-of-the-art. Sure, he had weapons in bulk, but most were standerd fair, not the prototypes Unit had. The prototypes used to combat the aliens that had attacked previously. Shouldn't his group, in charge of a peice of potentially harmful technology, be better outfitted? Apparently, Unit didn't think so.

Then he heard it, something he had not expected to hear nether this day nor any other; gunfire. That quick, loud crack crack crack of a handgun. Then the voices started. Panicked shouts and furious yells.

In the starting chaos, Sanders took a moment to think. Who could possible be attacking them? No one knew this was here. If they did, no one even knew what was being protected. He shook that out of his head. It didn't matter. This was what he was here for. He was mentally prepared for this day, even if he didn't expect it to be today. No one really expected today to be the day everything went down hill, did they? He did not think so.

He rushed out into the courtyard, his 50. Caliber pistol drawn and ready. That thing could put down almost any living thing in only a few shots. He even managed to down a Dalek with it, something considered a near impossibility by most. Two shots down its eye stalk with that pistol however, and it was done for.

Chaos ruled the open court yard. Troops rushed in all directions, carrying guns and shouting to one and other. An air raid siren blared deafeningly, a noise only out done by the sporadic gunfire at the fort's front.

Sanders ran forward. He couldn't see any of the enemy yet, but he tried to ready himself mentally. Almost anything or anyone could be at those gates. Working for Unit, one never really knew.

A radiant green light streaked across the sky, hitting the left most watchtower in a blinding explosion. The ground shook, and the tower blasted apart, violently splattering shards of metal and wood in every direction.

Sanders picked up his pace, running full bore. More gunfire shot down the hill at whomever the attackers were. Another green flash hit the right side watchtower, blowing that to smithereens as well. Right after, a second hit the front row of defenders, sending a few men flying backwards with pained screams. The machine gun nest was a warped smoking mess from the blast, totally unusable. He could see his men returning fire franticly.

He made it to the front line and dove behind cover. He was the sort of man who led from the front. It was the only way to lead in his mind. He was never one to ask his men to do anything he himself would not do. His pistol ready, he looked down the hill at the attackers.

The creatures he saw downrange were ghastly, and the most intimidatingly massive things he had perhaps seen in his entire life. They were impossibly muscular and green. They looked scaly, like a crocodile, though he could not tell if it was skin or some type of exoskeleton. There faces were covered by an eerie helmit with red eyes, looking demonic in the shining sunlight. Some held out their arms, apon which he spotted a gun barrel. Others had normal human made assault rifles, there big hands making them appear tiny. He even saw one weilding a sword made of a strange green metel in one hard, and a shotgun in the other. There were about fifteen of them, and they walked forward into the bullets calmly, unfazed by any attempts at defence.

He soon understood why. A burst of assault rifle rounds hit one's chest. He saw sparks shoot off its armor, but aside from that, nothing happened. He couldn't even see a scratch, and it didn't halt its stride in the slightest.

His men didn't need alot of direction, as they were some of the most well trained soldiers around, but he had a plan. He remembered how they fought the Dalak invaders years ago, and the strategy they used.

"Concentrate your fire on one at a time! Bring them down one by one," he shouted over the gunfire. That was what they had to do with the nearly indestructible Dalaks, take them down one by one untill there weren't any left. It was the swarm theory; spreading out their bullets among a crowd did almost nothing because each individual was too strong. However, firing all at once on each individual at a time had to accomplish something, no matter how strong what they were fighting was. It was about overwhelming each enemy.

His men did as they were told. The front creature was obviously the largest threat, so they began with him. Assault rifles pounded the front attacker, and Sanders himself rose to fire his handgun. He saw it stumble backwards awkwardly under the barrage of fire. He ducked as a green light sped overhead, and a burst of rounds hit the men next to him downing them. He and a second man screemed for a medic but he had the feeling they were too late.

Another green blast rocked the hill, this one hitting the grass down front, lighting it ablaze. Sanders popped back up, cracking off another pair of handgun rounds, which sparked into it's chest plate. A green flash whizzed by his head, missing him by a few inches, exploding somewhere behind him. He answered with his his hand gun at the original opponent. He saw it stumble again, this time flopping backwards onto the grass.

"Good," he thought to himself, "they can be killed." It wasn't as difficult as killing a Dalak either. There had been more of those too. This wasn't going to be as hard as he thought.

"All right, next one gents," he commanded, pointing to one of the green monsters holding an assault rifle.

He ducked as a few rounds hit nearby, some hitting the bags out front, some hitting a few men to the right of him. Still, his soldiers laid down cover fire, including one that tossed a grenade overhand down the hill.

A rumble, followed by a cloud of dust erupted, and Sanders peeked back up. He could see almost nothing through the black smoke clogging the air. The grass fire was burning out of control, giving their foe a free smokescreen. Perhapse this was for the best. The fire may slow them down, or make it more difficult for them to fight. Maybe this was an advantage, if their cards were played right.

His high hopes were shattered as another green light rocketed through the smog, landing amongst a group of five soldiers. He saw them recoil for a split second as the fire disintegrated any trace of where they once were. All that remained was a scorch mark on the dirt.

He did a quick calculation of the field. He had about thirty five men at his disposal at any given time. He counted nine bodys on the ground. That was over twenty percent of his force. This meant one thing; Stage Two.

"Retreat, Stage Two!" he commanded, "retreat stage two!" He could not see the enemies through the smoke, but he cracked off the rest of clip anyway, hoping to suppress the attackers. He reloaded as the troops began a fighting retreat, covering one and other as they backed up.

More green lights rumbled through the smoke, mixing there colers with the cole black. The first pair went high, flying skyward. The second pair hit home, one hitting the sand bags to the far left, blowing them wide open, the other hitting one of the soldiers retreating, throwing him off his feet.

Apon reloading, Sanders aimed in the genral direction of the shot and fired. He stood and started backing up one of the last people to leave. He ran across the courtyard, to the next sand bag barricade, lept across it and took up position behind it.

"Alright, Artillery Team Two! Launchers at the ready!" he called out. On both the left and right side of the barricade, a pair of men hauled up tactical antitak launchers.

That was the basis of stage two. It was assumed that it would be activated in case of one of two events; either the loss or twenty percent of the fighting force, or in the event of enemy armor arriving on the premises. Those were his orders, and he had every intention of sticking to them.

They waited, watching the billowing smoke for the figures. Their attackers were taking there time, not in any kind of hurry.

"Artillery, hold your fire until I order it, we want to catch as many in the blast as we can," Sanders said, squinting into the black.

The first green monster passed through the smoke, aiming its wrist gun.

"Assault teams, fire," Sanders called out. He fired his pistol at the scaly beast, joining the cacophony of rifle fire. Sparks shot off the monster as the bullets hit its armor, ricocheting off harmlessly. It put up its wrist, aiming at the defenders, and fired.

Small, crimson balls of energy shot out in a stream. They hit the barricades with loud wumps of electric feedback. Sanders ducked down, some of them shooting just over his head. He cought sight of others hitting a few of his defenders, knocking them on the floor. They convulsed, there skin covered in static electricity, then laid still, dead in seconds.

Sanders fired more bullets, these at the head of the green attacker. His first two missed, but the last hit the red-tinted lenses. He saw it stumble back, painfully. Its head was a weak point, just like humans. Excellent.

Two more appeared through the smoke, one firing its stolen rifle. The rounds hit the barricade in front, missing all the defenders but two. A third and fourth appeared, spraying red energy, followed by another carrying a big sword and a shot gun. Perfect.

"Artillery team! Ready!" Sanders called above the chaos. More red bullets splattered the defenders, shocking them to the floor in a group. Sanders was no fool. They were down to thirteen men now. The odds were not in their favor.

"Aim!" he continued. A fifth stepped into view, with a sixth in tow. A green shot flew in, blowing another pair of defenders into nothing.

"Fire!" he yelled.

Simultaneously, all four launchers fired with a deafening woosh. They sped forward blindingly, converging on their targets in unison.

The resulting explosion sent a blast of heat backwards as dust and fire engulfed the field. Sanders took cover as hot shrapnal blew by, then peaked over the sandbags.

The creatures all lay on the ground, their armor charred black from the impact of the missiles, yet somehow, they were still whole. The field was clear of living enemies, which, by his calculations, cut the number of foes almost in half. He took a deep breath, and readyed for the next wave.

This was far from over, but not in the way that it seemed. Sanders watched in horror as the blackend bodys began to twitch and shudder. First one sat up, then another, looking down at their weapons. He saw another walk through the smoke behind. His armor was scarred by bullets, and his wrist launcher pointed outward. It was the first invader they had "killed".

A chill ran up his spine and hit his stomach like he had been punched. Everything they had done had only stunned them. Even the rockets had done nothing.

There was only one option, the final option. Retreat Stage Three.

"Retreat Stage Thee!" he called out, "Cover fire!"

His troops did as they were told, and began throwing everything the had at the enemies. Sanders ran for the bunker door, ducking under a burst of red energy shots sent his way. He made it to the door, dodging another red bullet.

Frantically, he started going through thd security measures, swiping cards and punching in codes. His nervous hands fumbled with cards and keys, sweat forming on his brows. This was the last resort, the final solution. Another explosion shook the ground just when he turned the final key, unlocking the door.

He shoved it open, and turned around. The invaders were right on top of the barricade, where only six men remained. The charred attackers were relentlessly pounding the fortifications into nothing, and more stomped through the smoke.

Sanders aimed his gun, and fired at the attackers.

"Come on! Run!" he yelled. He emptyed his clip into one creature, knocking it down. He reloaded, and aimed at another, popping off more shots.

His men got to their feet and ran, unable to hold the assault any longer. The lead runner was hit by a green blast, sending him flying along with the man behind him. The final four reached him quickly, turning to fire.

"In the bunker. Now!" he yelled above the drone of automatic weapons. He backstepped, continuing to fire his gun as his compatriots filed into the building. Energy rounds and bullets splattered the bunker as he backed into the doorway, and slammed shut the door.

He turned around into the dark room. The last four men stood huddled together, out of breath. They looked around as they panted, seeing the massive ship they had protected for the first time. If it shocked them, they did not show it. There were far more important things going on right now.

_Bang. Bang._ He heard the clunking on the door. This bunker was sopposed to be impenetrable, but he had little doubt those things would be able to get in. They were almost invicable it seemed. Nothing would hold them.

He checked his clip count. One half full in the gun, two extra. He doubted the other men were any better off.

Everyone here knew what Retreat Stage Three was. Enter the bunker, stay inside until Unit reinforcements arrived, and should there be a breach, defend it to the last man.

Sanders aimed his gun at the door, listening to the banging outside. There was only one way this was going to end. Major Sanders would do as he was ordered, just like he always had. He had no problem being the last man. In some ways, that part was an honor, to give one's life for their country. He just wished he wasn't the last man because of Unit's secrets.


End file.
